


All For A Woman

by melissaeverdeen13



Category: Grey's Anatomy
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-06-18
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:43:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 16
Words: 86,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9911783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melissaeverdeen13/pseuds/melissaeverdeen13
Summary: What would life look like if Jackson hadn’t stood up at April’s wedding? He realizes he loves her - enough to let her go. But when April and Matthew move to Chicago, the place where Jackson has made his new life, everyone involved is hit with the fact at how shallowly the old feelings had been buried. April wants her old best friend back; but at what price? Soon the two will come to know that change can hurt, but it leads a path to something better.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!!! So this is my first time writing a Japril multi-chapter, and I'm super excited about it. I hope you guys like it, I'm still working diligently on finishing it. I have about 6 chapters done so far. I'm not sure about my posting schedule, but you won't have to wait too long between updates - I can assure you of that! Enjoy, and don't forget to leave reviews. :)

** JACKSON **

_ Nice. You just ruined Kepner’s wedding.  _

Steph’s words ring through my head as I sit there on the pew next to her, staring ahead. First Arizona, then Meredith and lastly Cristina, walk down the aisle, but I barely catch sight of them. My head is spinning. 

Earlier today, April asked me to be here. She stood in front of me with her hair in a million rollers and asked me to be here, so I came. Because I’m her best friend, I came. I’m here because she wants me here. 

But if it were up to me, I’d be as far away from this barn as I could possibly be. It’s ripping me apart to watch the love of my life get married to someone else who will never know her like I do. 

There’s a collective rustle in the room as everyone stands, so I stand, too. It means she’s coming, and my stomach sinks and churns with anxiety. I can’t believe I’m watching this happen and essentially _letting_ it happen. I thought I was better than this. I thought I knew myself better than this; I wanted this for us. I wanted us to work. I want  _ her _ . 

But I stand. With my hands folded at my waist, I watch her float down the aisle. She doesn’t cast a look my way - there’s no reason she should. She makes a slow beeline for Matthew who’s staring at her like he’s seeing the sun. I know the feeling. 

When we all sit, the minister starts to speak. I have no idea what he’s saying not only because of my atheistic background, but also because the ringing in my ears is now too loud to ignore. I feel like my head is going to explode. 

During the prayer, while I’m staring at the floor with my eyes wide open, Derek’s phone rings and jars me out of my zone. My heart is beating a million miles per hour. I can’t let this happen. I can’t. I’ll regret it for the rest of my life if I let her get away. 

My throat tightens, but I keep a straight face. A slight smile, even, when Steph pats my leg. 

Then the minister says, “And you, April and Matthew’s closest friends and family, are here today to bear witness to their union.” My smiles fades and twitches off of my face. They both turn out to the audience and April can’t keep that sweet smile off of her face; she’s practically bursting. I’m staring hard at her. I can’t tear my eyes away. “Will you promise to love and support their marriage in all the days to come?” I can see Steph nodding in my peripheral vision, but my face is deadpan. “If so, please respond ‘we will.’”  _ I can’t promise that. And I won’t.  _

A chorus of ‘we will’ reverberates throughout the room, but my voice isn’t one of the many. I can feel Steph’s eyes on me, studying my face and wondering why I didn’t speak. 

I turn towards her and open my mouth. “I…” 

“What?” she asks. 

My eyes search her face and my stomach twists with guilt, but I know I have to do this. There’s no way I can leave this barn without her; without April. 

“I’m sorry.” 

I stand up, straighten my suit jacket, and get noticed immediately. With their hands still latched together, both April and Matthew turn around to look at me as the minister stops speaking, and my mouth goes dry. Her eyes are wide and wondering; neither of them have any idea what I’m doing and I realize that I don’t, either. I’m an Avery. I’m not the guy who stands up in the middle of a wedding and runs off with the bride, that’s not me. That can’t be me. 

I love April. I love her too much to ruin her wedding, because I know how important this day and this tradition is to her. She deserves someone like Matthew who will be a reliable, dependable guy without any unpredictable facets of who he is. I, apparently, can’t be that for her. 

So I sit down. 

Everyone exchanges glances with one another and I feel Steph’s eyes on me, burning confusion. I can’t look at her, though. I know now, that after this we’ll be over. Whether or not she ends it, we will be over. 

April and Matthew kiss and get married. Butterflies are released, but the box in my hands was already empty at the time I sat down. So now the lid hangs open while the butterflies float and hover around all of our heads, trying to find the door, trying to find a way out of this barn forever. 

***

I go home that night to my apartment; my apartment that’s as empty as it usually is, but tonight it feels different. It feels like someone else should be here. Before April, I always preferred being alone than being with anyone else. But after I knew her, being together was always my first choice. As I kick off my dress shoes and trudge to the fridge, I wish that she were here now. I find myself wishing that even though it is the most impossible thing at this point. She’s married now. Whatever relationship or lack thereof that we had been playing with before is over now and will never be reinstated again. I know how seriously she’ll take her vows. And I doubt that we’ll ever be so much as friends again not because of her, but because of me. 

I lay down on the couch and finish a beer, hoping that it’ll make me feel less heavy, but it does the opposite. I can’t get her off my mind, and before now I had been doing my best at convincing myself that I was over her. I had been seeing Steph for a while and it was common knowledge that April and Matthew were going to get married. So why am I feeling like this now? Like a complete and utter failure for letting someone like her pass me by? 

I should’ve said something. When I stood up, I had already fought half the battle. I should’ve just opened my mouth and said something. 

But the look on her face told me everything. She was shocked, embarrassed and downright afraid of what I had been about to do, and I don’t think she even knew what I had in mind. It was clear she didn’t want me standing; she wanted me sitting and playing the part of dutiful best friend audience member. So I played that part for her. 

Both my standing and my sitting were for her. She got what she wanted. 

As I lay there on the couch still dressed in my upscale suit, those words play over and over in my mind. 

_ She got what she wanted _ . 

But did she? 

All I can see now is April looking frayed and shellshocked, bursting into the curtained room where I sat shirtless after walking out of that explosion with the little girl in my arms. As I came away from the fire, I had heard her vaguely in the back of my mind shouting my name so loudly that her voice wavered and broke. I had to power through, though; at that moment she couldn’t be my first priority. And when she pushed through those curtains and started pounding on my chest out of fright and rage, I had no idea what to make of her and her whirlwind of emotions. 

Even more complicated was when she came back the second time, her hair splaying out of its ponytail and her face looking more beaten and torn than I’ve ever seen it, and I was the one who had come out of an explosion alive. She told me she wanted me; she stood there in front of me while she was engaged to be married and I was seeing Stephanie and told me that I was the one she wanted. She told me, not that long ago, that if I could give her a reason not to get married to Matthew, she wouldn’t do it. 

And I stayed silent then. I didn’t speak up in time, and the moment got lost. The moment got lost and she got married, and I’m left here in my empty apartment lying on the couch with an empty beer bottle, dressed to the nines with nowhere to go. 

I know I need somewhere to go, though. I can’t stay here, not after all of this. 

*** 

In the hospital on Monday, I run into Steph coming out of the elevator. We exchange blustery apologies, and avoid eye contact at first. But I know what I have to say, and I’m not going to be the guy who just runs away from it. 

“Look, Steph, about the wedding-”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, but her face gives her away. Her attempt at monotone has had the opposite effect; every emotion is showcased on her face. Humiliation, anger, confusion and sadness. And I did all of that to her. 

“No, it was wrong, I didn’t know even what I was going to do…”

“I think you did,” she says quickly. “And I think it’d be best if whatever we’re doing here? Us?” She gestures between our bodies with one hand. “If we just ended it. We’re not going anywhere, especially now. And I think we both know that.”

I debate arguing, but realize it’s pointless to try and keep this alive. “You’re right,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

“Me, too,” she says, and then stalks off. 

I stay where I’m standing and stare ahead with wide eyes until I’m snapped out of my trance by Owen, who’s rushing by while tying on a trauma gown. “Avery, we need you in the pit. There’s a nasty GSW to the face coming in, and I need you there. With Kepner gone, the ER is a mess.” I’m thrown a yellow gown but still feel like life around me is happening in slow motion and I’m not playing a part in it. “Avery! You better be behind me.” 

I shake my head slightly and work on tying the strings around the back of my neck and waist. I try to throw myself into my work during the day, but I’m out of it and unfocused without a clear thought until the end of my shift comes. Owen catches me as I’m on my way out with a concerned look on his face, even as I try to walk faster to get out of talking with him. “Jackson,” he says, matching my stride. “Where were you today?”

“Huh?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “I was with you in the pit this morning. Then I had a consult at 3, but after that I was in OR 2 with-”

“Not what I meant,” he clarifies, then taps his head. “I meant, where  _ were _ you? All up in your headspace. You don’t seem like yourself. Is everything okay? I heard about…” 

I frown. “You heard about…? What?”

He sighs like he knows he shouldn’t have said that. “I heard you stood up at Kepner's wedding.” 

“Yeah, I stood up. Then I sat back down. Nothing happened.”

“Did you want something to happen?” 

I glance in his direction with a look of disdain and wonder why I’m entertaining this conversation with Owen of all people. I barely know him and he knows nothing about my past relationship with April or the way I feel about her now. I want to keep it that way. 

“I don’t really feel like that’s appropriate,” I say, watching the pavement as we continue to walk toward our cars. Suddenly, I feel like I must have parked ten miles away from the door. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Lie. What I’m about to say crossed my mind less than 12 hours ago, but it’s something that I haven’t been able to shake. Owen raises his eyebrows and nods me on. “I’m going to start looking for jobs elsewhere," I say.

The statement drops like a bomb. His jaw hinges open just slightly and he scrambles for what to say. “Oh…” he stammers. “Can I ask why?” 

“You can,” I say, speaking professionally. “My growth has stopped here. I’m looking to continue practicing somewhere else. New scenery, new hospital, new people. It’s nothing against Grey Sloan or any of the staff, I just need…” 

“To get away,” he finishes for me, nodding slowly. 

“Yeah.” 

He clears his throat. “I respect your decision,” he says. “There’s nothing I can say that could keep you here, is there?” I shake my head, finding it hard to look over to see what the expression on his face looks like. “Didn’t think so.” There’s a period of silence between us, and I only look up when I finally reach my car. “You know, Jackson, there’s gonna be someone out there like Kepner for you-”

“Don’t,” I say sternly, my jaw setting firmly. “Just don’t. I’ve said what I needed to say, I told you what I’m doing, and that’s all that needs to happen here.” I raise my eyes up from the wet, dark pavement. “Okay? I’m sorry. I don’t plan on staying much longer. I’ll still be on the board, of course, I just can’t practice at this hospital anymore. This is my 2-weeks notice.” I take a long breath. “And that’s all I have to say about it.” I press the unlock button on my keys and brace my hand on the door. “Thanks for understanding.” I get in my car and drive off without looking back at the hospital that had once felt so much like home to me. Anymore, it doesn’t harbor anything besides bittersweet memories that I’ll never get back. And I know it’ll only get worse once April and Matthew return from their honeymoon; that’s why I need to get out before that happens. 

I wonder what she’ll think when she comes back and hears, inevitably right off the bat, that I don’t work at Grey Sloan anymore. I wonder if she’ll try and call, and then I wonder if I’ll pick up the phone. 

I tell myself that I won’t. 

***

After searching around, getting referred, and two interviews, I land a job as Chief of Plastics at Northwestern Memorial Hospital in Chicago. As soon as I get the call, I work on getting boxes together to start packing up my apartment. After tying up any loose ends that I have, I put in my final leave at Grey Sloan and spend three days packing up my place and preparing to get out of here. 

My mother keeps calling from Boston, and I continue to screen her calls. I don’t need her input on my decision because I already know what she’ll say. She’ll echo what everyone else has been thinking, except in a more strongly-worded manner that will just make us fight. After it happens and I explain everything once it’s calmed down, she’ll understand. And she’ll probably support my decision. But right now, I don’t need the added stress of dealing with her. 

As I’m wrapping and boxing up the plates in the kitchen cupboards, I hear a knock on my door. Instantly, my stomach sinks wondering who it could be. “Who is it?” I call out. 

“It’s me.” 

I grip the counter hearing her voice. April is the last person I would expect to show up at my door; plus I thought she would still be gone on her honeymoon at this point. I thought I was going to be able to leave this city without having to hear from her. 

“Please let me in.” 

I debate on what I should do. I already gave myself away; there’s no pretending I’m asleep or not home at this point. The resentful part of me wants to continue packing and leave her out there confused and wanting, just so she can experience a little bit of what I’ve been feeling for the past week. But the other part of me - the part that stood up at her wedding - knows that I’m going to walk over to that door and let her inside. 

She’s standing there in a loose-fitting burgundy shirt and dark jeans, wringing her hands. Her hair is in loose waves around her shoulders, and her eyes are nervous and searching the moment I open the door. “Hi,” she breathes. 

“Hey,” I say. 

“Can I come in?” she asks. 

I don’t know how much she knows, but once she steps foot past the doorway she’s going to have a million questions. I’m not sure if I’m ready to answer them, but as much as I want to deny her entry into my house, the only thing I want is to sit with her on the couch and have a conversation. 

“Sure,” I say, and turn around to lead the way. 

Right after kicking off her shoes, she starts in with the questions. “Why is all your stuff packed up?” she asks. “Jackson, what’s going on?” I resume my place at the counter where I’d been packing. She stands an awkward distance between the kitchen and living room, seemingly unsure of where to put herself. “Are you… are you moving, or something?” 

I place the last plate on top of the stack and make my way around the counter to sit on the arm of the couch. She stays standing across from me. “Yeah, I am,” I state simply. “Chicago. Northwestern Memorial just hired me.” 

Her face screws up with emotions; her upset is written clearly in her eyes and the tension in her mouth. She’s never been hard to read. “Why?” When she speaks, her voice wavers and her lower lip trembles, and though she’s trying hard not to cry the glassiness of her eyes isn’t hard to miss. 

I start to speak, but she cuts me off. When I look back up at her, her emotion has changed from solemn sadness to rage.

“Why are you doing this?” she spits, baring her teeth. 

I stand up and walk away from her. I shouldn’t have let her in, I know that now, because she’s following me. “Why did you stand up at the wedding? What were you thinking; what did you plan on doing?” She lets out a vehement sigh. “I spent my whole honeymoon - where I was supposed to be thinking about my  _ husband  _ \- thinking about  _ you _ . And what do I owe you? I don’t owe you anything!” 

I get a bitter taste in my mouth when I think about April and Matthew on their honeymoon together. Up until this point, I was the only one she’d  ever been with. I know that it’s chauvinistic to feel a certain sense of pride that I’d been the only one that’s ever seen her, touched her, and now angry that’s all ruined. She’s his now. I not only hate myself for thinking this way, but I hate the fact that it’s true, too. 

“Of course you don’t owe me anything,” I say. 

“Can we just resolve this?” she asks, throwing her arms up. “I don’t want to keep going back and thinking about this.” 

“Then don’t,” I say. 

“And you won’t even so much as look at me now,” she says, finally standing still. “Just tell me why you stood up.” 

“There’s no big mystery behind it, April,” I say. “There’s not some big dramatic story that I know you’d love to hear.” I try to fabricate a lie in my head as fast as I can, because there’s no way I’m telling her the real reason - not now. “I was on a case at the hospital and I wanted to get back to it. I was just going to leave. I had better places to be.” 

She huffs and clenches her fists at her sides. “I don’t believe you,” she says. 

I turn and face her. “Then why do you think I did it?” I challenge her, finally raising my eyes up to her face. If she thinks she’s so sure about it, then I want to hear her say it out loud. 

She opens her mouth, but no sounds comes out, so she shuts it again. She chews fervently on her lower lip and dodges the question. “And now you’re just going to run away?” she asks, backing up slowly with her shoulders hunched by her ears. “You’re just going to leave. You’re leaving the hospital, all your friends, everything you know… just ditching it all? You’re just going to ditch me like this?” 

I clench my teeth together and can feel my pulse beating readily in my temples. “April, you’re married. What else do you want me to do?” 

She doesn’t speak and I don’t offer anything else. We just spend a moment standing across from each other in the same place, tempers blazing and emotions tightly bound. Breaking the stagnant pause, April turns around and shoves her feet back into her shoes and then rests her hand on the door handle as she faces me one last time. “Have a safe move,” she says, her voice now somehow devoid of any feeling.

With pinched lips and a burning face, I match her. “Have a nice marriage,” I say, and she walks out the door. 

***

I move into an apartment downtown; one with a glass panes for walls along the front side with a view that looks out over Lake Michigan. It doesn’t take long for me to get settled from one major city to the next, and fitting in at Northwestern Memorial isn’t hard either. 

I stay single. The people at Northwestern are different that the ones at Grey Sloan in that they aren’t as interested in social relationships. Most of them are there for the medicine and the medicine only. Not that they aren’t friendly, because they are. But some of them only to a certain degree. 

I’m mostly glad for it because it makes dedicating myself to my craft easier. But since leaving home and everyone I knew, not having a circle of friends here has caused me to be lonelier than ever. My mom has come to visit a handful of times, but that’s different than having an actual friend. When I work normal hours, which happens more often than not, I go home and work out in the gym facility in my building, cook dinner for myself, and then end the night on the couch. It’s rare that I’ll go out to a bar to hang out because I’m not a huge fan of going alone, and most of the time I’m so tired from work that I can’t find the motivation to leave the house. 

For two years, it’s been like this. I have colleagues that I’m reasonably close with at the hospital, but no one who I regularly see outside of work. 

I’m not necessarily trying to forget my old life, per se. It’s not that easy. I’m just trying as hard as I can to move on to the next stepping stone; the next place I need to be to succeed. I miss a lot of things about Seattle, but I don’t let my mind wander back there very often. I wouldn’t trade my life here for whatever is going on back there, I know that for sure. 

Nothing followed me to Chicago, not even my old wardrobe. When I got here, I revamped my closet entirely with a brand new stock of clothes and shoes. My apartment is furnished with different things than back home; I’ve started over here in every sense of the word. I’ve flown to Boston a couple times for holidays, but it’s never once crossed my mind to go back and visit Seattle just to drop in on what I left behind. I haven’t done it up until this point, and I don’t think I ever will. 

Like every other morning, I get up and make my commute to the hospital and park a far enough distance away so I get a good walk through the parking lot in. I wave to the same people I wave to every other day, and make my way to the attendings’ lounge where I set down my bag and change into my scrubs. 

The head of neuro, Adam Gannon, comes in and hangs his coat up over a chair. I give him a good morning nod, and he raises his eyebrows in my direction. “Did you hear?” he asks, shrugging into his lab coat. “Chief hired a new head of trauma. Finally found a replacement for LaFountain.” 

“Oh, really?” I ask. 

“Yeah.”

“Did you hear who it was, or…? I heard they were trying to find someone internally,” I say.

He shakes his head. “It’s not internal, but that’s all I know. I heard some name being thrown around, but it didn’t stick. Some consonant-sounding thing, I’d know it if I heard it again. You’ll probably see her around today, I wouldn’t be surprised.” 

“Her?” I ask, making sure I heard him right. 

“Yep, hired a woman.” 

“Huh,” I say, then notice the weird pause. “I’m not like...no, not like that. Not that I think there’s something wrong with that, just…” I shake my head and come up with a lie on why female trauma surgeons make my mind hit a mental road block. “Doesn’t seem like Chief to hire a lady.”

“Yeah,” Gannon laughs. “Old fucking misogynist, you’re right. I wonder what happened there.” He looks down at his watch. “I gotta get to rounds. Have a good one, Avery.”

I wave him goodbye and pull my shoes on, leaving my lab coat slung over my forearm when I walk out of the lounge. I pull my arms through it as I walk down the hallway, consulting an iPad for what cases I have to work on today. I pause at the nurse’s station and rub my hands together with hand sanitizer, leaning down on the counter with one elbow while scrolling with my free hand. I have a long day today performing two surgeries. One breast augmentation in the morning and one skin graft harvest in the late afternoon that’ll last for hours on end, so I’ll probably be here late tonight. I don’t mind, though. Ever since I came here, I welcome the late nights because they come so far and few between in comparison to Grey Sloan, where I was working 12-hour shifts almost every day. I like the strenuous feeling of being on my feet all day and the catching minutes of sleep at a time in on-call rooms between surgeries. It’s a grueling and exhilarating feeling that reminds me why I came to be a surgeon in the first place. 

After the breast augmentation, I’m sitting at a table in the cafeteria when one of the other attendings, Halle Bryant, comes up to me and sits down. “Hey, Jackson,” she says lightly, taking a bite of her sandwich. “How’s your day going?” 

I tell her briefly about my surgery I just got out of, and she nods along conversationally and tells me about the infant heart transplant that cardio is planning on doing later in the week. 

“Oh, and some woman came up to me earlier and asked for you,” she says. “By name.” 

“A patient?” I ask. 

She shakes her head with her mouth still full, chewing before answering me. “No,” she says. “At least I don’t think so. She had clipboards in her hands, looked legit. Had on scrubs. I’d never seen her before, but there are plenty of people I’ve never seen before. Maybe she was from dermatology. She had nice skin, it would make sense.” 

“Why would somebody from derm be looking for me?” I ask, narrowing my eyes and taking a long sip of my water. 

“Hell if I know,” Halle says. “She didn’t give a reason. I just told her you were in surgery and probably wouldn’t be reachable until later tonight. I didn’t know you had this break. Might not have told her about it even if I had known.” She looks at me with a cheeky smile on her face and I do my best to return it. Halle’s had an unabashed crush on me since I started here. We slept together twice, but it wasn’t something I wanted to keep up. She didn’t have any hard feelings when I told her I couldn’t do it anymore, yet still flirts with me constantly even after the rejection. She’s a rare breed of confident. 

“Well, if she asks again, I actually am going back into surgery in a few hours,” I say. “I probably won’t be available.” She nods. “Catch her name for me, though, if you can.” 

She stands up, having finished her sandwich. “Don’t count on it,” she says. 

I roll my eyes as she walks away, and take the last couple bites of my salad. It wasn’t great; I made it at home last night to bring in today and the lettuce got soggy overnight. I forced it down, though; it’s never good to be on my feet all day without any food in me. 

After checking in on a few recovering patients and going through some routine teaching procedures with residents, I gear up for my skin graft. It goes well without any complications, and I’m done an hour and a half before I thought I would be. I scrub out and am on my way to the attendings’ lounge to gather my things when I stop dead in my tracks. 

The lights in the hallways are dim at this time of night to help the patients sleep, so I can hardly be sure I’m seeing what I think I am. I see a woman standing by the nurse’s station, faced away from me, looking down at a hospital iPad and scrolling through it. As I watch her, she shifts her weight to one slight hip and lets her shoulders deflate as she looks at something she must not be able to fully understand. 

She has auburn hair that’s reflecting the soft light of the hallway, bringing out the tints of blonde and deeper red, too. It’s tied up in a half ponytail, like she couldn’t be bothered to pull the rest of it through to hang loose. She’s in turquoise scrubs - the color for attendings - with no lab coat. Probably because they haven’t had a chance to monogram one for her yet. 

I’d know the back of that head anywhere, no contest. I’m so gutted by the sight of her that my mouth hangs open and her name involuntarily escapes me. “April?” 

She spins around quickly, iPad still in hand. Her eyes light up when she sees me; I hadn’t realized how much I’d missed that reaction from someone. “Jackson,” she breathes, and sets the iPad down before fast-walking the remainder of the hallway and then collapsing into my arms. 

I let myself hug her as tight as I want to, and she doesn’t protest. Her body melts against mine, with her head on my chest and her arms wound tight around my back; we’re so close that I can feel her every inhale and exhale. My body, that has been so closed off to emotions for so long now, feels like it’s going to go limp and crumple right here in the middle of the floor. I had no idea that I was capable of feeling so many things at once. With her in my arms, I feel inexplicable glee and blinding rage at the same time. 

It’s obvious which one wins out. I still haven’t broken away from the hug, and I’m not sure when I plan on doing so. I reach up and touch her hair, running my hand over it and accidentally fraying some of it out of the ponytail. “You’re here,” I say. Those are the only words running through my mind. I never expected to see her again; no less in my hospital, wearing scrubs and looking at a chart.  

When we pull apart, she wipes a tear from either eye. In typical April fashion, she takes a bit of her lower lip between her teeth and then nods warily. “I’m here,” she says. “I’ve been looking for you all day.” 

I open my mouth but find myself not knowing what to say. It’s hard to find words to say to someone who you thought you’d never see again. The feeling of her body against mine brings back everything I had purposefully lost. There’s not a single thing I’ve forgotten about her; as I’m staring at April with the light behind her making the slight frizz of her hair more visible, all I can think about is our first time. Then the time in the men’s bathroom. All the times in the on-calls rooms between surgeries, before rounds, and after everyone else had gone home. Times like this, right now, where we’d find a moment to slip away and have each other to ourselves. 

I hear myself start to breathe heavier through my nose, and I wonder if she notices, too. I never wanted to feel like this again; trapped by my own emotions and feelings for another person. It infuriates me that she’s able to do this to me - one tiny redhead is capable of making me feel so much that I don’t know how to begin to work through it. 

I have so many questions, but I can’t bring myself to ask any of them. What I want more than anything right now is to be with her and get away from her at the same time. The easier one is always the latter, so I know that’s what I have to do. I can’t stand in front of her and hope to keep control of myself, because that hardly ever works. 

“It’s late,” I say. “I should get going. I’ve had a long day.” 

“I know,” she says. “I saw your name up on the board for two surgeries. How’d they go?” 

I take one subtle step backwards, away from her. “I really need to get home,” I say. 

Her eyes widen. She realizes what I’m doing. “I was hoping we could talk,” she says. “Matthew won’t be here to pick me up for another hour - that’s when I’m supposed to be done. Since I caught you, it seems like the perfect time now. Can’t you stay?” 

My skin feels itchy after her mention of Matthew. Seeing her here alone, I had almost forgotten that he would inevitably be part of the picture. The optimist in me hoped she had come here after coming to her senses and ditching him, but of course this isn’t a fantasy world. 

“I can’t,” I say. “I… I have a lot of stuff to catch up on at home.” I turn around without so much as a goodbye, but can still feel her eyes searing into my back. 

“Talk to you soon, then, I guess,” she says. “It was good to see you, Jackson.” 

I don’t respond. I don’t think that I can. 


	2. Chapter 2

**APRIL**

My hands shake as I walk out of the attendings’ lounge on my first day, dressed in turquoise scrubs instead of the navy blue ones that I’ve grown so accustomed to at Grey Sloan. The job isn’t new to me; that’s not what I’m so nervous about. I’m actually excited to dive headfirst into trauma in a totally new area; to showcase my skills in a place where no one knows me. What’s making me so nervous is that I’m jumpy around every corner, thinking that any second now I’m going to run into a very unsuspecting Jackson.

Moving hadn’t been my idea originally, but once Matthew brought it up, it made perfect sense. We’ve been having trouble agreeing on anything lately, so the fact that we were on the same page about getting out of Seattle was surprising. We’ve been going through a rough patch in our marriage - a rough patch that is completely normal for two years in - and a change of scenery is something all the books suggest. A new place with new people and new routines.

I was the one who had suggested Chicago. In the forefront of my mind, the reason I chose this city was because of its premiere medicine and the teaching program at Northwestern Memorial. Teaching is their number one priority, just like at Grey Sloan. And those were the reasons I told Matthew, too. I didn’t let myself admit, even to myself, that part of the reason I chose this city was because of who left Seattle first.

I miss my best friend, it’s as simple as that. We left each other on such bad terms, and there’s hardly a day that goes by where I don’t think of that day and wish I could go back and give him a proper goodbye. He gave me so much, and as usual, I was unfair to him. When he first moved here, I would call him about once a week but not one time did he pick up the phone to listen to what I had to say. I can’t say I really understand why, because I’m still confused over what happened at my wedding. I don’t really see why he would have a reason to be so upset with me over something that he knew was coming.

So because of the eerie silence on his end, I’m worried how he’ll react once he sees that I’m here. I tried to tell him that we were coming, but his number had changed when I tried to call him last. I hadn’t tried for such a long time, so it wasn’t really surprising. It was disheartening more than anything.

I get shown around the hospital by the Chief, whose name I conveniently forget. I ask around for Jackson after I finish my rounds, but only get pointed to the whiteboard where I look to see his name written for the first time in so long. It makes a warm sensation spread out like fingers over my chest, like fingers gripping tight over my heart and squeezing it.

_Avery, J._

I never knew that six little letters could make me feel so much.

At the end of the day, I’m standing at the nurse’s station with a hospital iPad in my hands trying to figure out the program that they use. It’s different from the one we had at Grey Sloan, with a lot more folders, so I’ve been getting lost on it all day. There isn’t anyone around to ask, so I’m just about to give up when I hear my name spoken from down the hall.

“April?”

I flip around so fast that my hair flies, because I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I can’t help the smile that floods my face; I never expected that seeing him would make me feel this kind of powerful relief. Just the sight of him is a breath of fresh air, and he doesn’t look the slightest bit different. It looks like it could’ve been just a single day since he left Seattle and I stormed out of his apartment. “Jackson,” I whisper, and set the iPad down. I almost don’t have control of my legs; they just start moving of their own accord and before I know it, I’ve covered half the distance of the hallway and am wrapped up in his arms in the tightest hug I’ve had in what seems like years. His hugs have always been my favorite; his arms have always felt like home.

He keeps a tight grip on me, squeezing my shoulders and then moving one hand up to my head to pet my hair, just like he always used to. I can’t remember the last time I was this close to another human - not even Matthew. We’re so close that I can hear the faint pounding of his heart and feel a slight tremor in his upper arms.

“You’re here,” he says, while my head is still resting on his chest. Hearing him speak makes tears spring to my eyes; his words are so heartfelt and I can hear the raw pain behind them without even having to see it written on his face.

We pull apart and I wipe the tears away, then bite my bottom lip. “I’m here,” I say. “I’ve been looking for you all day.”

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, but closes it before any words can come out. A long moment of silence passes where his eyes dart everywhere and finally land on me again, and then seem to study me as we stand solemnly across from one another. I desperately want to know what he’s thinking, because I don’t even know where I would begin in trying to guess. The only thing I can tell for sure is that a million thoughts are running through his mind and he obviously can't find his way through them.

The only reason I know that is because I feel the same way. I have so much I want to say to him, and so much I want to hear. He’s my best friend; he never stopped being my best friend. The greatest thing in the world for me right now is being so close to him.

Finally, he speaks. “It’s late,” he says. “I should get going. I’ve had a long day.”

I’m jarred by his words. That isn’t what I expected him to say. I had hoped he would be thirsty for answers from me, wondering why I came here and what I was planning on doing now that I've arrived. I hadn’t expected him to look for an out mere moments after our reunification. My heart sinks to the pit of my stomach because of it. I hadn’t wanted anything to change between us, but I guess I was naive in hoping that.

“I know,” I say. “I saw your name up on the board for two surgeries. How’d they go?” My plan is to maybe get him talking about work, and then that conversation will morph into something else. I want to keep him here, in front of me and where I can see him, for as long as I possibly can. If he walks away, I know I’ll just feel like I’m losing him all over again.

He takes one step backwards, and my eyes flick down to his feet. “I really need to get home,” he says, and I feel sick to my stomach.

I want to beg him to stay, but I know that won’t have a chance of working. I don’t want him feeling sorry for me, either. “I was hoping we could talk,” I say, putting the truth out there. “Matthew won’t be here to pick me up for another hour - that’s when I’m supposed to be done. Since I caught you, it seems like the perfect time now. Can’t you stay?” I clasp my hands together and wring them compulsively.

“I can’t,” he says. “I… I have a lot of stuff to catch up on at home.” He turns around to leave, and instantly after the words come out of his mouth I know they’re lies. That’s so unlike him to say. If he wanted to stay here and talk to me, he would. And he’s made it quite obvious that that’s the last thing he wants. Suddenly, I wonder if coming here was a mistake. Maybe we can never get back to what we once were before love got in the way.

“Talk to you soon, then, I guess,” I say to his back. “It was good to see you, Jackson.” The last part is the truth. The only thing is I wanted him to be happy to see me, too. And it’s obvious that he wasn’t, because he doesn’t say another word as he walks away.

***

I’m waiting outside in the turnaround when Matthew pulls up. I walk slowly to the car and then collapse with a huff in the passenger’s seat after throwing my stuff to the back. Routinely, he plants a kiss on my cheek and I lean my head towards him so he can reach. I let out a long sigh and lean my head back against the headrest, wanting nothing more than to sleep for a long, long time.

“Long first day?” he asks, clicking on the turn signal to get out of the parking lot.

I press my lips together. It’s not the hospital I’m tired from at all. “Yeah,” I say. “You?”

“Eh,” he says, and I can picture him shrugging even with my eyes closed. “Wasn’t too bad. Not much different. I expected a lot more gunshot wounds, though.”

I open my eyes to a slit and throw him a sideways glance. “That’s a little… that’s kind of profiling, don’t you think?” I ask.

“What? No,” he says. “It’s Chicago. It’s different here. You gotta be aware of that.”

“We’ve been here four days,” I say. “I don’t really see how you think you know anything about how things are here.”

“I mean, from what I’ve heard,” he explains, slowly like I might not understand. “In the news, all that stuff. People get shot here, babe. All the time. Every day, people are getting shot. And I didn’t see a single one of them.”

I inhale and exhale, closing my eyes again. “Hmm,” I say, pretending to think about it.

“Surprised you didn’t know about all the gun violence,” he says. “Maybe you should read up on it.”

“Maybe.”

We’re quiet for the rest of the ride home, and I don’t end up falling asleep. When we pull up in the garage of our walk-up, I open my eyes and gather my things before stepping out of the car and into the house. There are still boxes strewn everywhere in varying stages of being unpacked, which makes me twitch. The neurotic part of my brain would love to stay up all night taking things out and organizing them to help this place look more like a home, but the exhausted part of me knows there is no way that that’s happening. I’m on another long shift tomorrow, and I need to go to sleep if I’m going to make it through.

Matthew kicks the side of a wayward box as we make our way inside. I look at the side and see that it’s marked ‘ _kitchen - glasses_ ’ in my loopy handwriting, so I say, “Hey, be careful.”

“They’re mostly unpacked out of there anyway,” he says. “You hungry?”

“There was just no reason to kick it,” I mutter. “You didn’t have to kick it. Just...pointless.”

“Are you hungry?” he asks again, ignoring what I’ve said under my breath.

“No,” I say, and start to make my way up the stairs as he flicks the kitchen light on to stand in front of the refrigerator.

“Oh,” he says. “Well, I’m starving. I ate lunch forever ago. I’m gonna cook up something and then I’ll be up.”

“I’m getting in the shower, then going to sleep,” I say. “We carpooling again tomorrow?”

“Of course,” he says, pulling out ingredients. “Only makes sense.”

“Okay,” I call down, already at the top of the stairs. “Night.”

I close the door to the bathroom and strip down as the water heats up in the shower. Once it’s hot enough, I step inside and lean against the wall with my hands pressed to my face as the water slicks my hair down. My throat feels tight and my teeth are clenched together so hard that my jaw is trembling, and suddenly I feel so overcome with indescribable emotion that I don’t know what to do with myself. I sink down to sit on the floor by the drain so the water pools around my feet, and rest my forehead against my knees. I stare at the floor through the gap in my legs and try to breathe as evenly as I can, and blink hard once my heart rate slows down. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I don’t know why I’m feeling this way. The best word I can think of to describe it is: trapped.

I take my time scrubbing the long day off of my skin, and put on some soft pajamas once I get out. When I open the bathroom door, I see Matthew lying in bed just staring up at the ceiling, assumably waiting for me.

“You didn’t have to wait up,” I say, running a brush through my wet hair.

“I wanted to,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Oh,” I say, setting the brush down on my nightstand and then crawling into bed on my side. Almost as soon as I touch the mattress, he gravitates towards me and winds one arm around my stomach to pull my body close to his. “What are you…?”

“I know you’re tired...” he says into my neck. “But I was just thinking. We haven’t really broken in this bed yet.”

“We brought this bed from Seattle,” I say, looking over at him.

“You know what I mean,” he says. “Don’t you think now the perfect time to start trying?”

“Trying?”

He sighs like he’s so fed up with me. “For a baby,” he says. “You never used to stop talking about it, remember that? We just moved into an awesome new place in an awesome new city, I have a great job that I can support us with once the baby’s born-”

“I also have a great job,” I say pointedly.

“Of course you do,” he says, kissing my jaw. “Right now. But you wouldn’t stay working after the baby’s born.” My silence forces him to question his thought process. “Would you?”

I furrow my eyebrows. “Of course I would,” I say. “I always planned on being a working mother. Could you imagine me not practicing medicine? I couldn’t.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t want to. My life would be so… _boring_.”

“No, it wouldn’t,” he says. “I could definitely see you as a housewife.”

I scoff. “You’re joking,” I say.

“I’m not,” he says, his tone turning serious. “That’s what my mom did. Didn’t ever have to work a day in her life, my dad took care of all that and she took care of me and my brothers. That’s just how I always thought it would be for us, too.”

I push away from him so I can look into his eyes. “Well, I just don’t think that’s going to work,” I say. “That’s all great for your mom, I’m happy for her that she enjoyed doing that. Some women do. But not me. I’m a surgeon, Matthew. It’s what I do. It’s what I know I can do well. I don’t think you… I don’t think I should be asked to give that up.”

“No one’s coming out and asking you to give it up.”

“You pretty much just did.”

He sighs again. “I didn’t. We’re just talking, it was a suggestion I made. It’s not like I said you had to, or wrote it in stone or anything.”

I turn over on my side so I face the wall instead of him. “Okay,” I say tensely.

He mutters something under his breath that I can’t quite hear. “Okay,” he repeats, matching my tone. “Good talk.”

“It’s not really a talk when you’re telling me what I should do,” I say, pulling the covers up higher.

“That’s not what happened,” he says. “And I was going to see if you wanted to start trying tonight and make it special, but apparently you’re not interested anymore.”

“I’m tired,” I say shortly. “I’m going to sleep.”

The silence that follows lets me close my eyes, but hours pass before I’m able to do anything but stare ahead at the blank wall in front of me.

***

The morning is cold and quiet at home. I get up first, as usual, and go downstairs to make breakfast while Matthew is still sleeping. Out of routine, I make enough for two even though I don’t really have the inclination to be kind towards him right now. He comes downstairs just as I’m setting his plate at the counter, and gives me a sleepy wave. I flash a terse smile in return, and he sits down and starts to eat. I’d been eating along the way as I cooked, so I’m already finished and can retreat back upstairs to get dressed.

“April, wait,” he says, and I stop in my tracks without turning around. “I’m sorry about last night.” I wait for him to say more, and after a long enough silence, he does. “I didn’t mean to make it seem like I was trying to take control of your life.”

I turn around and lean against the stair railing. He’s swiveled around in his chair, looking at me with round, sorrowful eyes. “I know,” I say. “You get these ideas in your head, and…” I tap my temple with one finger. “You can’t get them out.”

He sighs. “I know.”

“You really have to work on that,” I say.

“I know, I said I was sorry,” he says, his tone sharpening just slightly. “I wanted this move to be good for us, and the only thing we’ve done so far is fight.”

I raise my eyebrows. “It’s hardly been five days,” I remind him.

“I know, I’m just saying.”

“You talk like we’ve been here for years already,” I say. “You have to give stuff a chance. You never give things a chance.”

“Oh, _okay_ ,” he says sarcastically.

“What? What’s that for?” I ask.

“You telling me I never give things a chance is just kind of funny,” he says. “Seeing as you’re the one who loves to shoot down my ideas right off the bat.”

“Yeah, I do love to shoot down the kinds of ideas that have me staying home being a doting housewife while you’re riding around in an ambulance all day,” I spit. The angry heat in my stomach is tightening and finding its way up to my face and neck in the form of a violent blush. “I’m sorry, Matthew, but I’m not your mother. I’m not sure if that’s what you’d rather have, or what. But I’m a surgeon, I save lives. Maybe if anyone is going to stay home and be a housewife, it should be you.”

“It should be _me_?” he asks incredulously. “And if you’re going to talk about my mom like that, we shouldn’t even be getting into this. I thought you guys-”

“It’s nothing against your mom, and you know that,” I say. “And why do you say it like that? Would it be so horrible if you stayed home with the baby?”

He sputters for something to say, and I know I’ve cornered him. Instead of feeling satisfaction from essentially winning the fight, though, I feel sick. I don’t like putting him in a corner like this, it’s not kind, and it always seems to happen. But he always starts it and I always have to push back.

“I’m not saying it’d be horrible,” he says. “I never said that. I just think you’re undermining my job. I help people, too.”

I throw up my hands. “I never undermined anything. I’m going to go get dressed, I’m gonna be late. I have surgery at 8.” I hurry up the stairs, throw on some clothes and run a brush through my wavy hair. I do my best with a little makeup, but thanks to our argument I don’t have a lot of time.

When I get to the stairs to head back down, he’s heading up. “I don’t need a ride,” I say. “I’ll drive myself.”

“Fine,” he says, passing me.

“See you tonight.”

“Uh-huh.”

I clench my fists and shove my feet into my shoes, then head out the door to get into my car that I haven’t driven yet since we came here. Driving through the city, weaving through aggressive traffic and public transportation, is a little challenging but it's nothing I can’t handle. Navigating my way to the hospital helps engage my brain in a way that helps me forget my disagreements with Matthew and instead helps me change gears into the surgery I’ll be scrubbing in on this morning.

When I get to the hospital, I feel like I can let out a sigh of relief. Once I step inside the doors, I find myself wishing that I could find Jackson and talk about all of this with him, even though I know what he would probably say. It’s probably smarter that we don’t talk about it.

I change into my scrubs and pull my hair into a loose ponytail. When I come out of the attendings’ lounge, I literally run right into Jackson and am knocked back by the force of our bodies hitting each other. I have to take a few steps back to steady myself, and he reaches out and grabs me so I don’t fall over. “Jeez, I’m sorry,” I say, and he lets go of me quickly.

“You okay?” he asks, and I want to be able to tell him the truth. That no, I’m not, and I really need someone to talk about this with. Back home, I’d probably talk to Arizona. But now, calling her about a fight I had with my husband seems stupid and childish. She has bigger things to worry about other than my marital strife. I know Jackson means physically, though, wondering if I’m hurt from how hard I bumped into him.

“Yeah,” I say. “Thanks.” I turn to look at the board and see that my surgery - an appy - is with someone with the last name ‘Chance.’ “Chance,” I say, chuckling. “That’s not a very comforting name for a surgeon.” I look to my left, where Jackson had been standing, to see his reaction… but the spot is empty. “Talking to myself,” I say under my breath. “Awesome.”

***

After the appy, I sit down in the cafeteria by myself at an empty table and eat in silence until someone comes and sits with me. I look up and see a blonde man with brown eyes smiling at me as he sets his lunch down, wearing a lab coat that has the name ‘Greg Collins’ on it. I offer a smile back and then a small wave. “Hi,” I say, tucking a bit of my hair behind my ear.

“Hey,” he says, getting comfortable. “I’m Greg. You must be April, new head of trauma?”

I nod. Hearing my job title reminds me of how long I’d been waiting for the ER to get slammed, but nothing has happened so far. After I eat, I plan on going there and organizing things to my liking, and hope that some action happens while I’m in the midst of doing so.

“I’m in ortho,” he says. “Bones. Breaking. Destruction. Metal saws. All that good stuff.”

I snort softly. “I know what ortho is,” I say.

“Right, right,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. “So where’d you transfer from? What brings you to Chicago?”

“Seattle,” I say. “Grey Sloan Memorial. I was head of trauma there, but I just wanted a-”

“Wait, Grey Sloan?” Greg asks, then his forehead creases as he thinks. “Why do I know that name?” He doesn’t let me answer before he answers himself. “Wait, I know. Jackson Avery. He came from there, too. You gotta know him. You know him, right?”

I laugh sardonically. “Um, yeah.”

“What a small world,” Greg says. “So you came here because of him, or…?”

I shake my head quickly. “No, no, not…”

He raises his eyebrows suggestively. “Easy on the eyes, right?” He laughs. “I don’t go that way. But I’m not blind. And he’s got half the women in this god forsaken place fawning over him. At least he did when he first came here, I don’t know if the hype’s died down at this point. Wouldn’t surprise me if it hasn’t. The guy’s a ladykiller and a rockstar with a scalpel.”

I smile slightly. “I know,” I say.

“Course you do. So, are you two friends? Have history together, or…? What’s your story.”

I clasp my hands together under the table and laugh to myself thinking at all of our unbelievable history together that this man is so blissfully unaware of. I can’t help thinking back to what he said before, though, about every woman here wanting him. I don’t want to admit it, but I think the tugging feeling in the pit of my stomach is jealousy making itself known. Jealousy and possessiveness, though I’m perfectly aware I have no reason to feel either of those things. I’m married. To Matthew.

“Our story…” I say, and debate on what to tell him. “We… we don’t have one. Acquaintances at Grey Sloan, that’s really all. I didn’t come here because of him.”

“You didn’t?” He studies me, and I shake my head no. “Of course not. You came here because Northwestern Memorial is the best hospital in the midwest. And I’m sure you love hot, sticky summers and long, unbearable winters, and that’s why you came here.” He laughs at himself, and I join in.

“Yeah, that’s why,” I say.

“I knew it,” he says. “So, does Avery know you’re here? I have a consult with him later this afternoon. I could pass on a message, if you want.”

“No, it’s okay, we-”

“You probably are already all caught up,” he says. “Be careful, those eyes’ll get you. You might’ve been acquaintances before, but now…” He shrugs and wears a goofy smile. “Magic might be happening in The Windy City.”

I laugh demurely, looking down at my mostly-unfinished lunch. “Well, I’m married,” I say, flashing him my modest ring.

“Jesus, and I’m an ass,” he says. “Forgive me for all this. I just saw you were sitting alone, and my mouth gets away from me, gets me into trouble all the time. Ask anyone. I just can’t shut up.”

“No, it’s okay,” I say with a smile. “Don’t worry about it. But, well, I guess if you could just tell him that… that I say hi, and I’d love to talk to him soon.” I gather up my things and push my chair away from the table. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll do that,” Greg says. “It was nice to meet you, April.”

“You, too,” I say, then wave him goodbye and throw my trash away. I feel like I might’ve just made my first friend.

***

We get a few traumas in the ER during the course of the day, but nothing exponential or life-threatening. The only notable cases are a finger stuck in a water bottle, a second-degree curling iron burn, and a Skittle stuck up a toddler’s nose. They were all fixable within minutes, and they didn’t challenge my brain very much at all. The day passes by slowly, and I’m organizing shelves when I see the back of Jackson’s head pass by, so I drop what I’m doing to hurry after him.

“Jackson,” I call, but due to the few people milling about, I don’t shout.

His shoulders tense, and I almost expect him to keep walking and ignore the fact that I spoke. But he stops and turns slowly, looking at me with a straight-faced expression.

“Hey,” I breathe, trotting to catch up with him. “How are you? I talked to this guy today, Gr-”

“Greg Collins,” he finishes for me, then sighs. “April, you gotta… you can’t do that. He’s got the biggest mouth in the entire hospital.”

“Yeah, he said that,” I giggle.

“It’s not a good thing,” Jackson says, eyebrows furrowing slightly.

“What?” I say. “It’s not like I told him anything. Do you think I told him our whole life story or something?”

His body leans away from me. He wants to leave, but I won’t let him. “ _We_ don’t have a story anymore,” he insists.

“I know that, I…” I cut myself off and start over. “Why won’t you talk to me? Can’t we just be friends?”

His lips press tighter together. He spends a long time looking at me, supposedly thinking of what to say. “We’ve said it before,” he says. “We can’t just be _friends_.” He shakes his head. “I can’t do that.”

I touch his wrist, but he pulls away. “Can’t we try?” I ask. “I came here because-”

“I don’t want to know why you came here,” he says sternly. “I don’t. I…” His eyes search my face and come to land on my lips for a second longer than the rest. He shakes his head and gives up the rest of his sentence. “Just don’t go telling Collins anything else.”

“All I told him was to say hi to you, and that I want to talk to you.”

“Yeah, and he told me that,” he says. “He also took it upon himself to go into a full rant about fate and how I shouldn’t ignore… you know what? It was all a bunch of shit, he has no idea what he’s talking about half the time. The guy’s nuts. Probably a bad choice of your first friend here.”

I frown. “Why are you being so cold?” I ask. “I didn’t do anything to you.”

“You didn’t?” he asks.

“No!” I insist, accidentally letting my voice raise. “I don’t know why you hate me so much. I don’t know what I did to you that made you so…” I leave my thought unfinished. “This doesn’t seem like you. This isn’t us. I don’t know what happened to us.”

He stares at me headily for a long time, like he has a lot to say but won’t say it. And if I know anything about Jackson, there’s no forcing him to do anything. “I don’t hate you,” he says finally.

“You don’t?” I ask hopefully.

He shakes his head. “No,” he says. “But I can’t be around you.” Then he grabs an iPad off the charging dock and walks away.

I watch him go, I can’t help it. But I don’t follow.

***

I’m not very late getting home tonight, and I can see that Matthew is already there judging by the lights on inside. I brace myself before unlocking the door, even though the last thing I want to do is continue our fight from earlier. I don’t want to concede, because he’s still very wrong, but fighting is so exhausting. Home is supposed to be a place of solace, not another battlefield.

He’s in the kitchen when I come through the front door, so I take my time kicking off my shoes and making my way towards him. The house smells good; he’s cooking, and it smells like chicken of some sort. “Hey,” I call out, and set my shoulder bag down.

“Hi,” he responds, and I walk into the kitchen to see him closing the oven.

“What are you making?” I ask, leaning with my elbows on the island.

“Chicken parm,” he answers. “I figured you’d be hungry.”

“I’m starving,” I say. “Can’t wait.” We had chicken parm on our third date, and he knows how much I love it. He always cooks it when he wants to make up.

There’s a short pause where both of us are probably wondering what the other is going to say next. “I don’t wanna fight anymore,” I say, lifting my eyes up to his.

“Me, neither,” he says.

“We both said things we shouldn’t have,” I say. “Can we just…” I wave my hand in the air in a nonsensical manner. “I just wanna be done with it.”

He nods slowly. “That sounds good to me.”

“I mean… we’ll have to discuss it again sooner or later.”

“Just not right now.”

“Yeah.”

I nod and force a smile, feeling the urge to glaze things over to look pretty back to how they used to. We moved here to make improvements in our relationship, but if first impressions tell anything, moving here was not the solution.

“I missed you today,” he says. “In the car. It was so quiet.”

I chuckle. “I do like to talk.”

“Yeah, you’re a big old chatterbox,” he says, and I laugh again and then stand up straight. I walk over to him and give him a hug, and he pats my back warmly. “I love you,” he says.

I return the sentiment and mean it, then stare ahead with my cheek rested on his chest. After we finish dinner, we retire upstairs and have sex for the first time since moving here. It’s only after I’m lying there on my back, feeling spent yet hollow, that I realize neither of us apologized.


	3. Chapter 3

**JACKSON**

For the first time in forever, I wake up on a Saturday morning in a bed that’s not empty. That’s not to say I don’t bring women home frequently - because lately it’s been getting worse and worse. It’s too easy to get bored in this place all on my own, and having someone else here to occupy my body more than my mind is a good temporary placeholder. 

I hadn’t meant to let her sleep here. Usually they don’t want to, anyway. With my eyes still closed, my brain conjures up an image of who’s lying next to me. She’ll be on her side facing me, one arm under her pillow and the other one under her chin. She’ll have gone to bed in a pajama set but will wake up in much less, probably just boyshort underwear and a long-sleeved shirt, because her legs get hot. Instead of brushed and curled, her red hair will be a frizzy mess on top of her head that I’ll work on smoothing down the moment I open my eyes. 

But when I open my eyes, that’s not the image of who’s lying across from me. This girl, Julianne, has deep brown hair and creamy coffee-colored skin. Instead of a mess of frizz, her hair is straight and all she’s wearing is the sheet. What I want to know is: if last night was as amazing as I remember it being, why do I still feel so empty? 

Her eyes open as I stare at her, and I divert my gaze away. She looks surprised; I had expected her to gravitate to me and want me to hold her, but she doesn’t. She sits up, bringing the sheet with her, and looks at the time. “Shit,” she says. “I didn’t mean to stay here. I have to go.” 

I don’t say much. I sit up, too, and lean against the headboard. “Thanks for last night,” I say, watching her put her shoes on. 

“You, too,” she says. “See you around.” 

I had met her at a bar down the road, and her coming back here was something we both knew was bound to happen sooner or later, so we just made it sooner. 

I get up out of bed and gather my sheets up to wash them. I have to be at the hospital later, but I have time for a load of laundry so I can start fresh. I like to come home to clean sheets and a made-up bed, so I can fall straight to sleep. 

I shake the sheets out and and throw them into the washer, and out from the mess of fabric falls out a pair of unbelievably tiny underwear. I look at them for a second with one eyebrow raised, then pick them up as the washer starts. I step on the foot pedal of the trash can to open it and discard them inside, then happen to see the note she left on the refrigerator whiteboard when I look back up. 

_ Thanks again for last night, you are really amazing ;) see you soon? Text me. _

I wipe the message away with the palm of my hand and then bend in half to rest my forehead against the cool granite of the countertop. I sigh, because I know I won’t text her. I won’t call her, and I probably won’t go back to that bar. I don’t want to see someone twice, that defeats the whole purpose of meaningless sex. Mark Sloan said it best himself way back when I was a resident; stressed-out, sex-deprived men don’t make for good doctors. I’m improving the quality of life of my patients by doing this, at least that’s what I keep telling myself. 

After the laundry is finished and my bed is made back up, I get ready to head into work. I have a few returning patients to check in on today to see how their skin grafts are holding up, which shouldn’t keep me there for very long. 

I park my car in my usual spot and take a shortcut inside via the ambulance bay, and I’m hitching my bag up higher on my shoulder when I hear my name. “Jackson?” I furrow my eyebrows and look around to search for the source of the voice. “Jackson Avery?” 

I turn around and squint through the bright sunlight to see Matthew Taylor hopping out of a rig, looking almost as confused as I’ve ever seen him. He looked a little more confused the last time I saw him, when I was standing up in the middle of his wedding. My gut wrenches at the memory alone. 

“Hey, Matthew,” I say, raising a hand in a cordial wave. 

He steps closer to me, into the shade where I can see him better. “What are....” He shakes his head and looks at me like I have three eyes. He doesn’t speak for such a long time that I wonder if he had a stroke or something. “Do you work here?” he finally asks. 

“Yep,” I say. 

“How long? How…” He looks up at the name of the hospital like it might have suddenly changed on him. 

“Two years. When I moved from Seattle, this is where I came. I’m head of plastics.” 

“Head of plastics,” he repeats, mostly to himself. He stares over my shoulder, zoned out ahead at nothing in particular. 

“Yep…” I trail off, turning my body in attempt to leave. For obvious reasons, he’s never going to be my favorite person. I don’t want to stay here talking to him if I don’t have an obligation to. 

“Did you know?” he asks. 

I narrow my eyes. “Sorry, know what?” I ask. 

“That I...she...we… that we’re here. That we moved here.” 

“You and April?” I ask, and feel myself bristle when he nods after hearing her name. “Yeah.” 

“How long?” he asks. 

I shrug. “I don’t know, a few months or so.”

“A few months?” he asks. 

I sigh exasperatedly. “Look, Matthew, I gotta go. I have consults-” 

“Wait,” he says, putting up a hand to stop me. I look at it disdainfully and he lowers it, which is in his best interest. “So you knew we were here. You talked to her.” 

I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I don’t really know what else you’re trying to get out of me.” 

He shifts his eyes to burn through mine. “Nothing,” he says. “I’m just surprised to see you.” 

“That’s how I felt when I saw her,” I say. I have plenty of things I could ask him, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to spend any more time around him if I can help it. By looking at him, I’m only reminded of all the things he gets to enjoy that I was so close to having as my own. “Hope you guys aren’t stalking me.”

It was meant as a joke, but he doesn’t take it as such. “We’re not,” he says. “I assure you.” 

“Okay…” I say. “Well, I have to get going. People to see, things to do. You know how it goes.” 

“Yeah,” he says absentmindedly. 

I walk away after throwing one last glance over my shoulder to see him standing in the same place, still working it all out in his mind. It dawns on me that April hadn’t told him that I work here and just in that moment he saw me, he realized it. Judging by our history, I can’t imagine he’s all too pleased with the present situation. I know I wouldn’t be, if I were him. Especially if she didn’t tell the whole truth about it. 

I can’t help but feel a sick sense of pride and satisfaction, though. 

I take a glance at the board as I walk past it, and see something familiar that makes me involuntarily smile. 

_ Kepner, A.  _

I haven’t seen her name on an OR board in so long, especially leading a surgery. I know she’ll be happy once she gets out of that OR; she’ll be on a high that’ll last well into the night after she gets home. Little does she know, she's going to have quite a conversation piece waiting for her once she gets there. I have a half a heart to seek her out and tell her what to expect from Matthew, but I’m smart enough to know that’s not my place. Nothing involving her is my place anymore, though she keeps trying to make it that way. 

It’s not a good idea for the two of us to talk. Because once we start talking, we get comfortable. And once we get comfortable, things will get much more difficult. I’m not stupid; I know the feelings will come back. And as of right now, they’re not buried that deeply under the surface. And the emotions that they're being covered by - anger, confusion, and resentment - aren’t hard to push aside after enough time spent with her. That’s why I won’t let myself spend time with her. 

**APRIL**

I’m sitting on the couch in the front room reading when Matthew gets home that night. I look up from my book briefly to smile at him, but I see that he’s staring down at the floor while taking off his shoes without even bothering to greet me. 

“Hi,” I say pointedly, smiling through it. He doesn’t respond. “Earth to Matthew?” 

He looks up with a vacant look in his eyes. “Huh? Oh, hi.” 

I fold over the page in my book and set it down on the coffee table. “You okay?” I ask. 

“Fine,” he answers, hanging his coat on a hook. 

I pull my legs up onto the couch and fold them underneath me. “You’re obviously not,” I say, leaning back to watch him. 

“I just…” he trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just don’t wanna get into it right now.” 

I frown. “I think we should, if whatever it is is bothering you this much… you should tell me.” There’s a long silence. “Come on, Matthew, it’s me. Just tell me.” 

He walks over from the entryway and leans against the half-wall by the couch. “You lied to me,” he says. 

“I…” My mouth drops open and my face screws up with confusion. “I what? How?” 

“I was in the ambulance bay today, just minding my own, when I see no one else but Jackson freaking Avery walk into the hospital.” He shakes his head and shrugs. “Have any explanation for that?” 

My mouth falls into a straight line and I actively keep myself from getting defensive. I don’t have anything to hide. 

“Don’t even try and lie, because he said he’d already talked to you,” Matthew says.

“Why would I lie?” I ask, still leaning back against the couch nonchalantly. “I don’t know what the big problem is.” 

“The big problem?” he asks, eyes growing wide. “My big problem is that we moved to the same city - the same  _ hospital _ \- as your ex.” 

“He’s not my ex,” I say calmly. 

“Okay, your old best friend who you just so happened to lose your virginity to, is that better?”

“Would you breathe?” I ask. “Come sit down.” Surprisingly, he walks over to the couch and sits next to me, his body swiveled in my direction with one foot planted on the ground. “It’s not like that. I mean, yeah, I knew he was here, but… I didn’t move here for him.” 

Matthew scrutinizes me, probably trying to figure out if I’m telling the truth. “I mean, I trust you,” he says. “But you lied about-”

“If you’re going to bring up that I lied about being a virgin, that was almost three years ago,” I state firmly. “That’s not okay to pull back up during conversations like this just because it works for you. That’s not fair. I made a mistake, and I came back from it. We came back from it.” 

He nods to himself, knowing that I’m right. 

“I wanted us to come to Northwestern Memorial because it’s an amazing teaching hospital,” I say. “It’s the best around. And I thought this city would be great for us, and I think it’s really turning out to be that way. We just have… adjustments to make. And we’re getting there.” I reach across and frame his face with one hand. “I didn’t move here with Jackson in mind. I promise you.”

“Yeah?” he asks. 

I nod. “Yeah. I moved here with  _ you _ in mind. With us.” I scoot closer to him and rest my legs over his lap, and he winds his arms around me to support my back. “We talked because I saw him. We didn’t say much. That part shouldn’t worry you, anyway, but… we hardly said ten words to each other. We don’t really cross paths.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, pulling me closer so he can kiss my neck. 

“I know,” I say, looking up towards the ceiling as I feel his lips on my pulse point. His apology is full of feeling and heart, and while my words sound the same… I’m not sure if they match his caliber. I want them to; I want that more than anything, but I can’t seem to muster it up within myself.

He lays me down on the couch and rests his body overtop of mine as he kisses me, one hand on the underside of my thigh. I smile against him and wrap my other leg around him to pull him closer, and can’t help but get lost in my head as he rushes to unbutton my jeans and then pushes them down my hips. 

In my life, I’ve only ever had sex with two people. It was supposed to be just one, but the concept of that was messed up along the way, and still - two partners to most people is a very small number. Comparing Jackson and Matthew is impossible in every way, and though sexually they are by far the most different, there are tiny things that Matthew does that remind me of how it used to be. Like when he rushes to get me out of my pants, it brings me back to the times when Jackson and I would find an on-call room and rush those precious few minutes we had with each other, just to make sure we got them in. No matter how hard we tried to stop, it was nearly impossible to be within arm’s reach of each other all day and not want to get him alone somewhere. 

The last time we slept together was late at night while the hospital was slow and peaceful. It wasn’t rushed or clumsy; we had plenty of time while the ER was out of commission and we were both on an overnight shift. We weren’t in an unlocked supply closet with my back shoved against a sharp cabinet, hurrying to get some satisfaction between daily obligations. We wanted nothing else than to simply be with each other in a locked room for as long as we wanted. The last time we slept together we were in a bed, in love. 

I remember it so clearly, that my brain gets cloudy with what I’m actually experiencing. Instead of Matthew’s hands crawling up my back to get to the back of my bra, they’re Jackson’s - mapping out the expanse of my skin and memorizing what he already knows so well. Instead of Matthew tugging my jeans down with forceful, short yanks, it’s Jackson - sitting up on his knees and taking his time to get them off before settling his body down gently between my legs again. 

I remember the way his lips felt on my skin; sometimes hot and desperate and other times soft and sweet. That night in the on-call room, he took his time with me because he knew that he could. He kissed each of the freckles on my chest and made us both laugh when he pressed his lips to the one under my armpit; I used to love the way his smile felt against my skin. 

He had kissed my jaw under my ear, which stole the breath out of me. He always did that because he was perfectly aware of what it did to me, and he loved to take advantage of it. He kept his mouth there and sucked gently on the skin while running one thumb over my nipple through my bra, and my back had arched off the bed to press my body closer to him. It was all I could ever do to get closer to him - it was what I always wanted. 

If we had the time, Jackson never missed an opportunity to give me what I needed. He knew what made me feel good and exactly how to touch me to make me feel it. He always went down on me when he could and he was very, very good at it. 

I can count on one hand the amount of times that Matthew has done that for me. And when he does… his skill level is just not the same. 

Jackson would make me forget that I even had a body. He worshiped me in bed and made me feel like a person I never thought I’d ever be. With his head between my legs and his fingers gripping my hips so tight they left behind white circles, I felt sexy and wanted and like I could give myself completely over to him. It was a feeling that I never even knew existed, and sometimes I’d do anything to have that back. 

Remembering the way it felt when he was inside me is something I don’t let myself go back to very often. But now, I can’t help it. I let myself go back to that last time in the on-call room and the time before that in the supply closet and the time before that in the shower. The feeling is incomparable, but when I open my eyes to see Matthew’s face centimeters from my own, I realize that for the entire time we’ve been having sex, I was doing just that. I just came forgetting that I was having sex with my husband and pretending it was Jackson instead.

“You haven’t enjoyed yourself like that in a while,” he pants, planting an absentminded kiss on the corner of my mouth. 

My cheeks flush red with guilt and shame. My shirt, pants and underwear are all off, but my bra is still on. Matthew always has a hard time with the clasp, and when he tried to get it off, I guess he couldn’t do it. I don’t remember the process of any of this happening, I was so lost in my thoughts. I know I can’t ever do that again. That wasn’t right, and it wasn’t fair to him. Or me. 

“I… yeah,” I breathe, and throw my arms over my head as he continues to thrust inside me. I try to stay in the moment until he finishes, and snap back to reality enough to fake my second orgasm so we can be done. Sex is the last thing I want to be doing after I just let myself indulge on that age-old daydream. 

After, we lay pressed up against each other on the couch with his arms wrapped around my waist to basically keep me from falling off. I stare ahead into what I can see of the kitchen and try to ignore my stomach growling, because I want to enjoy this nice moment with my husband. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asks, reaching to tuck a bit of my hair behind my ear. 

My eyes dart to one side as I try to force what I had really been thinking about out of my mind. Ever since letting myself give in to my fantasy and essentially pretending that Matthew was Jackson, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to look my husband in the face. There has to be something seriously wrong with me. Maybe we shouldn’t have come here - maybe it was a huge mistake to thinking that moving to the same hospital as Jackson could ever be a good idea. 

I shouldn’t be thinking about him while I’m in bed with Matthew. That should definitely not be a thing that I even  _ want _ to do, let alone  _ let  _ myself do. But it was almost like I couldn’t help it; my mind just went there without me telling it to go or not to go. And that was the scary part. 

“You,” I answer, sifting through my thoughts. 

“Aw,” he says, kissing the back of my head. “Funny thing, I was thinking about you, too.” 

“Oh, really?” I ask, giggling. “Probably helps that I’m laying right next to you.” 

“Naked, no less.” 

“God,” I say, and then sit up and pull on my underwear. “I’m just cold,” I say. “I’m not self-conscious or anything.” 

“Good,” he says, sitting up too and massaging my shoulders softly. “Because you have no reason to be.” 

I lean back against him and let him kiss my neck for a second before I stand up and redress myself. “I’m hungry,” I say. “Do you want leftovers?” 

*** 

On Monday, Matthew and I take my car to ride together to the hospital. I park, and he leans over to give me a routine kiss on the cheek before we head to our different wings. “You won’t be home tonight, right?” he asks. “Overnight?”

“Yep,” I say. “First one. Wish me luck.” 

“Try not to die,” he says. “If you need anything from home, just give me a ring. I’ll be glad to bring something by.” 

“I might,” I say, then hand him the keys. “Don’t forget these. Wouldn’t want you to get stranded here.”

“Yeah, one of us is already stuck in that boat,” he laughs, and gives me one more kiss as we step out of the car. “See you tomorrow. Have fun.” 

“I’ll try,” I say, then give him a wave as I head inside. As I walk through the glass doors, I accidentally match stride with a tall, mahogany-haired woman who waits at the same elevator as me and looks up to meet my eyes once she realizes we’re the only two people standing here. 

“Hey,” she says warmly. “You’re new, right? The trauma girl?” 

Trauma girl. I don’t know if I like the sound of that, but I don’t bother with correcting her. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m April. I’ve been here a few months now.” I stick out my hand for her to shake, but she gives me a hug instead. I accept it. 

“I’m Halle,” she says. “We met, on your first day I think. I’ve heard about you.” 

We get in the elevator and press the same button - 5. “You’ve heard about me?” I ask, raising my eyebrows. “How?” 

She looks at me like I should know already. “I’m friends with Jackson,” she says. 

I feel like I’ve been shoved backwards. Jackson is talking about me? Up until this moment, I thought that was the last thing he’d be doing. “Oh,” I say, trying not to sound surprised. “Well, I hope you heard good things.” 

She chuckles. “I did.” 

Her vagueness is now putting me on high alert. I want to know what exactly Jackson is spreading around, and why he thinks that’s okay. I didn’t come here to gain a reputation from him before I could even make one for myself. “That’s good,” I say. “I haven’t gotten much of a chance to talk to him lately.” 

“Ugh, he’s so annoying that way,” she says, rolling her eyes and leaning against the wall. Suddenly, I feel my stomach twist with a sick sense of territoriality. I don’t want some other woman to be able to talk like that - like she knows him so well. I hate that she’s capable of doing that, and then I hate myself for hating it. It’s a vicious cycle that I’m not sure will ever end. “When he doesn’t wanna talk to you, he really won’t talk to you.”

“He told you he doesn’t want to talk to me?” I ask, still trying to sound casual. 

She looks at me with a different light in her eyes, then tries to backtrack. “Oh, no, he didn’t say that,” she says. “I’m just saying, I know what you mean. He’s the king of avoidance.” She sighs. “His solution is always to run away, run away, run away. He never wants to just stand and face it and deal with things. So counterproductive.” 

I nod slowly. She does have a point, and while I don’t like that she knows this about him, she’s not wrong. “I know,” I say. 

She laughs. “Right? You get it. He’s like, the most complicated man on earth.”

I scoff, and the elevator doors slide open. “I wouldn’t go that far. He’s-” We step out of the elevator and are interrupted by the man himself, standing at the nurse’s station and scrolling down an iPad. We look at each other and giggle like high-schoolers, and he looks up and glances confusedly between the two of us. He shakes his head, puts the iPad down, and walks away muttering something about how he doesn’t even want to know. 

“Drama queen,” Halle mutters, and then starts to head off in a different direction. “See you around,” she says. “I heard you’re a pretty kickass surgeon. Welcome home.” 

A warm feeling explodes in my chest as I wave her goodbye, and the whole way to the attendings’ lounge, I can’t stop smiling. 

My day is full of plenty of emergencies, so luckily it goes quickly and fades into the night before I even have a chance to register that time is passing or get tired at all. The first break I get doesn’t come until midnight, and when I sit down cross-legged on a bed in an on-call room with a sandwich I packed this morning, I feel such a sense of relief. I lean back against the wall and close my eyes while I eat, only opening them once I hear the door click. 

“Oh, sorry.” 

I look up and see Jackson in the doorway, turning around to leave. “Wait,” I say, and he stops. I see that he has food in his hands too, most likely serving an overnight just like I am. “Stay. You can eat with me.” 

“I…” he trails off. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” 

I scoff. “Jackson, it’s lunch.” 

“Technically way past dinner.” 

“You get what I mean. It’s food. Come sit down, don’t be stupid.”

He pauses in the doorway for a long moment, but finally gives in and comes inside. The door swings shut behind him and he turns around to look at it, maybe wondering if he should reopen it, but he doesn’t. He comes and hovers by the bed, debating whether or not to sit down, but decides on pulling up a chair that he faces backwards on so he has a place to rest his arms. “Hey,” he says, unwrapping his storebought food.

I can’t help but smile. I spend a little too long looking at his face, but then force my eyes away to look back at my sandwich. If I look at him too long, I’ll remember how I had him last night in my mind, and that’s something I really don’t think I should be doing. 

“Hey,” I respond, and take a bite. I feel silly for being unable to keep the near-manic smile off my face, and I know he notices. 

“What’s all the smiling about?” he asks. “You look a little insane.” 

That makes me laugh. “Just happy you’re here,” I say truthfully. 

“Happy looks like an understatement. You look like the Cheshire damn cat.” 

I giggle again and shake my head at him. “Two jokes,” I say. “I’m surprised. Up until now, you wouldn’t even look at me. Now you’re gonna crack jokes?” 

He shrugs and looks around. “You’re kind of my only option.” 

“Harsh,” I say. “True, but harsh.” We eat in silence for a moment; a moment that I spend just soaking up his presence that I’ve been deprived of for such a long time. As I’m finishing my sandwich, with a bite still in my cheek, I say, “So I ran into a friend of yours today. Halle.” 

He raises his eyebrows and takes a sip of his water. “I saw you two coming out of the elevator together,” he says. “Insta-besties?” 

I roll my eyes. “You’re just jealous,” I say. “She told me she’d heard about me, though. From you.” I lean forward with my elbows on the insides of my knees. “Have you been talking about me, Avery?” 

“No way,” he says, much too quickly. 

“I wonder why she’d say that then…” 

“She loves to start drama. Don’t let her pull you into all that shit,” he says. “She’ll get you.” 

“Oh, whatever, you and your warnings about the people in this place,” I say. “She seemed perfectly nice. And she seemed to know a lot about you.”

“About me?” he asks, seemingly surprised. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I shrug one shoulder coyly. “Come on, you can’t just leave it at that.”

“You won’t tell me what your big mouth has been spreading around about me,” I say. “So I don’t think I need to return the favor.” 

“I wasn’t  _ spreading _ anything,” he says. “I know better. I hardly told her anything. Anything she said was a big exaggeration, I guarantee you.”

“You don’t even know what she said.”

“Maybe not. But I know it’s an exaggeration.” 

I sigh and plop my chin down into my open palm. “She said that you two were friends. And she knows how much you like to avoid confrontation.” I tap my cheek with my pointer finger. “How does she know you so well?” 

He looks at me with a straight-set jaw and pensive eyes. “We slept together a few times,” he says off-handedly. “She likes to get in shitty digs about me to get me back, because I don’t want to see her anymore. We’re friends, that’s it. But she wants it to be more.”

I want to be sick. If I thought I felt territorial over Jackson before, that was nothing compared to what I’m feeling now. Imagining Halle in bed with him has me wanting to burst out of this room, find her, and rip her to shreds. I know this white-hot anger has no place being inside me right now, though, so I do my best at masking it. He doesn’t belong to me, not anymore. 

“Oh,” I say. “That sucks. What a bitch.” 

He looks at me funny, like he hadn’t expected me to say that. I hadn’t really expected myself to say it, honestly, it just came out. “I guess,” he says, one corner of his mouth pulled upwards. 

“So now it’s your turn to spill,” I say. “What did you tell her about me?” 

He rolls his eyes and chuckles. “I just told her I knew you from Grey Sloan. She knows we were coworkers, that’s pretty much it. And I told her how badass you are with a scalpel.”

“That was nice of you,” I say, eyes surely twinkling. “So, you didn’t tell her about…?” 

He shakes his head firmly. “No,” he says. “I don’t tell anyone about that.” 

I scan the floor after finding myself unable to meet his eyes. “Me, neither,” I say.

There’s a heady pause between us before he speaks again. “I saw your man the other day,” he says. 

“I know.”

“You know?” 

I nod. “Uh-huh. He wasn’t the happiest about seeing you. Came home and wanted to start a whole thing about it.” 

He raises his eyebrows and opens his mouth with fake-surprised gasp. “Did I cause a marital dispute?” 

“Shut up,” I say, swatting the air in his direction. 

“He acted really weird. It was like I was a ghost he was seeing, it was so strange. But he kept me there, wanting to talk to me. It was really…” He shakes his head. “Odd.” 

“Yeah, well,” I say, sighing. “I think it was odder for him than it was for you.” 

“I’m not sure about that,” he says. “So he came home and started a fight with you over me?” 

“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “We didn’t fight.”

“No?” he asks, egging me on. “But you wanted to.”

“I didn’t,” I say. “He did.” Jackson makes a thoughtful sound. “Not like it’s any of your business, Nosey Rosie.” 

He groans. “ _ Please  _ don’t bring my mom’s phrase into this.” 

I giggle and lean back against the wall. “I know how much you love that one.” 

“Yeah, right,” he grumbles. 

“She added me on Facebook again, you know,” I say. “After you told me to delete her and I did. She friend requested me again.” 

He looks at me, unamused. “And did you add her?” 

I shake my head. “Still sitting in there, neither confirmed or denied. I figured you wouldn’t want me to re-add her, but I felt bad pressing delete. So I just didn’t do anything.” 

He smiles. “If you wanna add her, be my guest. I’m sure she’d love a look into your life, because I won’t let her get a look into mine. She can live vicariously through one of us at least, she’ll love that.” 

“Alright,” I say happily. “I’ll add her back.” 

Both of our pagers beep simultaneously, which means there’s probably a serious trauma coming in. We get up from our seats and throw our trash away, and on the way out I make sure to catch his attention before we’re swept up in the commotion. “I liked that,” I tell him. “I think we can be just friends, don’t you?” 

He looks at me in a way I can’t interpret as he ties on his trauma gown, and ends up smiling at the end of the long stare. “I guess we’ll find out,” he says, and then we run to meet the incoming patients at the emergency door. 


	4. Chapter 4

**APRIL**

When my long shift is over, I’m exhausted but still cheerful. When Matthew comes to pick me up the following evening, I’m smiling while waiting in the pickup lane and I greet him happily with a kiss once I get in the car.

“Hi,” I say, my voice light as I buckle myself in.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and tired. He turns out of the parking lot on the way back to our house, and I notice that his hair's all messed up and he has sweatpants on.

“How are you?” I ask, situating in my seat.

“Fine.”

“That’s good,” I say, then sigh happily. “God, I feel like I could run a marathon. I kinda forgot how much I love long overnights. I wish you could feel that… just that _rush_ , you know?”

“Not really,” he says, all surly.

“Were you napping when I called?” I ask. “I told you I got off at 5, right?” I reach over and touch his cheek, but he subtly leans away from my hand. I frown slightly at that motion, and replace my hand back on my lap.

“Yeah, you told me,” he says. “I was awake.”

“You look all sleepy,” I say, a laugh in my voice.

He keeps his eyes on the road, even as we rest at a stoplight. “Well, I came, didn’t I?” he asks. “And I was on time, so I don’t really see what the problem is.”

I rest my elbow on the side of the door and then my chin on my palm so I can look out the window. “There’s no problem,” I say. “I think you just woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

I look over to see if my joke got a reaction out of him, but all he’s doing is chewing on the inside of his cheek. I sigh slightly, but don’t let his mood ruin mine. My first overnight shift was great; and the first real conversation I had with Jackson has me feeling lighter than I have since we moved here. It’s nice to have the prospect of my best friend back.

When we get home, I gather my things from the back seat and start talking again. “The night and day both went by so fast,” I say, half of my body inside the car. “There was a gunshot wound that came in. I meant to tell you about that. You know how like you were saying when we first came here, about that?” I don’t get a response. “Matthew, remember?” I stand up out of the car with all my stuff in my arms and look around to see that he’s already gone inside. “Oh,” I say out loud to myself, then shake my head and go through the garage door that leads inside.

He’s sitting at the dining room table when I go in, and I throw my stuff down on the bench in the entryway. “Left me talking to myself out there,” I say, chuckling. He doesn’t respond. “Hey, are you okay?” I ask. “Sorry, I didn’t ask how your night was yet. How was it? Was it weird being here alone?” From here, I can see that his jaw is clenched and his mouth is pinched. “Matthew, what’s going on?” I ask, slipping my shoes off and walking towards the table to join him.

He raises his eyes to me finally. “You’re all….peppy,” he says, gesturing with one hand.

“What’s wrong with that?” I ask. “I thought you knew by now that you married peppy.”

He sighs. “Hardly,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, gripping the back of a chair with both hands and leaning forward.

“At home, we’re either fighting or you’re in a mood where you don’t care at all. And at work, you’re all smiles and sunshine.”

“Wait, I don’t understand. Would you like it if I were miserable at work, too?” I pop my weight over to one hip. “And I don’t think that I’m like that at home, I-”

“Yeah, you are,” he says. “I’m back here taking care of the house and everything like that, while you’re off saving the world. Or at least that’s what you think.”

“Okay, I never said I was saving the world. I don’t know where you got that.”

“You know what I mean.”

I bite the inside of my lip and grip the chair tighter. I stare at him and chew on my skin so furiously that I taste blood almost instantly. “This is about me not wanting to be a housewife, isn’t it?” I ask, then throw my hands up. I feel the tight feeling of anger squeezing its way into my gut, ruining my amazing mood from just moments ago. “You seriously can’t let that go.”

“I never said anything about that,” he says, his eyes narrowing. “You’re the one who just brought it back up.”

“Well, it’s obviously still on your mind,” I say. “And I already told you, I’m not doing it.”

“No one’s forcing you to,” he says.

“It sounds like you are,” I say. “I don’t think you’re ever going to be 100% happy if I don’t quit my job, stay home and take care of our future kid, and have dinner cooked for you every night by the time you get here.”

“I didn’t ask you to quit,” he says. “You’re twisting my words.”

“I’m not,” I say. “I remember very clearly. You insinuated that once I get pregnant, I should be done at the hospital - at my dream job - to take care of you.”

“To take care of our _child_ ,” he says, raising his voice.

“See?” I counter back. “You do want me to just throw away my life, throw away everything I worked for - med school, interning, residency… everything, just to raise a family? People can do both, Matthew.”

“I know that,” he says. “I never said you had to give anything up.”

“It sure feels like you’re forcing me to,” I say, pacing around the dining room. “I feel so… I feel so…” I raise my hands to my head with claw-like fingers. “Trapped. By your ideologies, by the way you picture your life… you have this little box you want me in, and I just don’t fit. You have to make room for me.”

“There’s plenty of room for you,” he exclaims, his eyes wide and rageful. “And I pictured my life with you, with someone like you! A Christian woman to raise a family with that shares my thoughts and beliefs. And that was you!”

“That is me,” I say, stopping to press my palms flat on the table. “But I have my own thoughts, too!”

“I never said you didn’t,” he says.

“But yours are more important,” I snap back.

“Not what I said,” he says. “That’s not true at all.”

I let out a sharp breath out of my nose. “Yet you want to be the patriarch of this family and make me be the doting little-”

“Would you stop with that?” he roars, banging his fist down on the table and making me jump. “You’re putting words in my mouth, and I’m getting really damn sick of it.”

I spend a moment just staring at him, chest heaving. “You don’t need to scream,” I say.

“You always bring it back to this,” he says, now eerily calm.

“Always, meaning the two times we’ve fought about it,” I say under my breath.

“It’s more than two. Every fight we have, it comes back to this.”

“That’s because this is our one issue,” I say. “And it’s pretty significant.”

He shakes his head. “It’s not our one issue,” he says, laughing sardonically. He stands up from the chair after shoving it forcefully back, and discards the calm facade as his rage returns. “You know what, maybe we shouldn’t have gotten married,” he says, and I feel like I’ve been punched. As he stands, I pull out a chair and sit because my legs suddenly feel like Jell-O. “Maybe Avery should have stopped the wedding; that’s what you wanted, right? That’s why we moved here.”

My jaw drops and I stammer for words to refute him. “That’s not fair,” I say, shaking my head. “You know that’s not true. I already told you, that’s not…”

“Sure, whatever, you told me what I wanted to hear,” he says, his face growing red. “And I wanted to believe you. I really, really did.” He stops pacing and stands with his head tipped towards the ceiling with his hands on his hips. “And I thought that I could.”

“You _can_!” I insist, feeling tears prick behind my eyes. “He’s not why we moved here, I _told_ you why we moved here.”

“For us,” he says, but the words sound thin.

“Yes, for us,” I repeat, pulling my legs up to my chest so my knees are right under my chin. “I told you that.” My chin trembles, but I really don’t want to cry. I don’t want to cry because these aren’t sad tears, they’re angry ones. And angry ones don’t stop. “And if you really didn’t want to move here, why didn’t you say something before we packed up and left our old lives?”

“Why would I have any objection to this?” He fans his hands around his head. “This beautiful house, beautiful city, my beautiful wife? What I didn’t know… I didn’t know that part of _your_ old life was already here. You conveniently kept that from me. How could I have known?”

“I didn’t keep it from you....” I say, my voice becoming waterlogged. “It didn’t matter, he wasn’t part of the equation. He wasn’t.”

“And what say would I have in it, anyway?” he demands, smacking the back of the chair he’d been sitting in. “What voice do I get in this marriage at all? It’s all you. It’s always been you calling the shots. Even if I had said no, you and I both know that we’d be in this same exact spot right now.”

“That’s not true and you know it,” I say, looking at him with hooded eyelids. My tears are welling up, which has caused his form to turn blurry. “That’s not fair. You’re half of this marriage.”

“You can say that as much as you want,” he says. “Say it until you turn blue if it helps you believe it.”

I start to cry; I feel a tear slip out of each eye and then dip under my chin to slide down my neck. He won’t look at me, but he sits back down at the table across from me. I can’t believe that just an hour ago, I’d been the happiest I'd been since moving here, and now… I can’t remember ever feeling this hopeless.

He grits his teeth and starts talking again. “I bet you’ve thought about it,” he begins. “I bet you’ve thought about Avery would never ask you to do what you think I’m asking you to do.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, feeling cornered.

“He’d never ask you to take a bigger role in raising our family,” he says, flashing his teeth. “I bet you compare him to me all the time.”

I bunch my fists on top of the table and feel more hot tears pour down my cheeks. “This is not about Jackson,” I say, my voice wavering. “Stop making it about Jackson.”

“Oh, it’s not about him?” Matthew asks, his eyes slits.

“You’re the one making it about him, not me.”

He scoffs. “Can you honestly say you’ve never done that?” he asks. “Can you look at me right now and say you’ve never compared me to him? Not once?”

My hands shake, and I lift my eyes from them to look at him. I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out.

“That’s what I thought,” he says.

We sit in silence for a long time, both of our elbows on the table, staring ahead at nothing. After at least twenty minutes pass, he speaks again. “Maybe we should take a break,” he says.

I take in a deep breath and nod. “I can’t fight anymore,” I admit.

He shakes his head minutely. “Not a break from the fight,” he says, and I turn my head towards him with a concerned look on my face. “A break from… this. Us. Our marriage.”

I don’t have any words left to say. All I can do is stand up, push my chair in, and go upstairs to bed.

***

Matthew sleeps on the couch that night and I wake up extra early to head into the hospital, even though I’m technically not scheduled to work. I’m out of the house before he even gets up, and I walk into work feeling bedraggled and beaten. I tried my best not to look that way, but I don’t know how well it’s working.

“Kepner,” I hear, when I’m standing in front of the OR board. “I didn’t see you on the schedule today.” I turn and see that it’s an attending who I work with frequently in the ER, Lila Britton.

“Yeah, I…” I force a weak smile. “I felt like coming in. You can never have too many hands, right?”

“Definitely,” she says. “It was a slow night, though. I don’t know how much you’re going to end up doing.”

“I’m sure I’ll find something,” I say, and then watch her leave. She’s nice, but impersonal. Talking to her doesn’t require much, which I appreciate this morning.

She’s right, though, the day is slow. But even though it’s slow, I would much rather be here digging around for things to do than at home wallowing and analyzing everything that happened last night. I try my best to busy my body and my mind so I don’t find myself thinking about it, and it works for the most part.

During lunch, I’m thankful when Greg comes to my table and sits by me so I won’t be lost in my thoughts. “Hey, April,” he says as he sits. “Didn’t expect to see you today. Cabin fever?”

“Yeah,” I answer. “Something like that.”

He nods knowingly as takes off the lid to his Tupperware container. “I know the feeling.” There’s a slight pause. “Hey, so, what’d you do to Avery? Did you two hook up in a supply closet? I mean, I know you’re married, but the man hasn’t stopped smiling for at least 24 hours. And it’s starting to scare the patients.”

I laugh, but it sounds like a deflating balloon. “We didn’t… no,” I say. “Nothing happened.”

“Maybe he needs to head up to Psych then,” Greg says, trying to make me laugh. “I don’t know the last time I saw him smile like this. Maybe never.”

“Yeah, his smiles are rare,” I say.

“But last I checked, you give them out for free. And I haven’t seen a single one from you so far today. What’s got you down?” he asks.

I shake my head. “It really doesn’t matter. Just one of those days.”

He studies me while eating his cantaloupe, and I push around my salad lacklusterly with my plastic fork. “Okay,” he says. “I won’t push. I’m not the nosey type. Just know that if you need someone to talk to… I’m here.”

One corner of my mouth pulls up in an attempt at a grin. “Thanks,” I say.

After lunch, I do my best with the incoming traumas, but nothing is serious enough to occupy me for too long. A lull comes during the late afternoon, and I’m walking through an empty hallway when I’m so overcome with emotion that I have to find the nearest supply closet and hurry inside, walking all the way to the back of it before I slide to the floor and start crying with my head in my hands.

I feel so small. I hole myself up in the corner with my knees drawn close to my body, and that does nothing to help the heavy sense of dread that’s pushing down on my chest. I know marriage is hard, but I never thought that it would feel like this. I never thought I’d have to constantly be looking around the corner to watch out for our next fight so I could brace myself for it. I expected there to be more happy moments than angry ones, but it hasn’t turned out to be that way. I thought, with Matthew, everything would be perfect. I didn’t think I’d ever have to think about these things - or that a break would ever be in our future.

It’s not even the future at this point. It’s the present; it’s now.

I try to keep my sobs at a level where people won’t hear them as they walk by, but it’s hard to quell their power. Doubled over with my forehead on my knees, it’s nearly impossible to catch my breath once I really get going. I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to stop, because my thoughts won’t slow down and there isn’t anything I can think of that will fix this.

I take in a huge, shaky breath and then wrap my arms tight around my legs and press my face in between my knees. My whole body is racking with sobs, so much so that I hardly hear the sound of the door when it opens. The only way I know someone walks in is by the sound of their shoes on the floor, and when I look up I see that it’s Jackson standing there.

I take in a shaky breath and then press my lips together tightly. There’s absolutely no way to hide that I’ve been hysterically crying, so I don’t even try. “April…” he says, coming fully inside and shutting the door behind him. “What’s going on?”

As soon as he expresses concern, my tears start flowing again. Loud, hiccuppy sobs escape me as my eyes squeeze closed again, and before I can open them back up, I feel him on the floor next to me. He wraps one of his arms around my shoulders and I instinctively lean into him; tucking my head up under his chin and crying onto his chest. He sways us back and forth gently; his cheek on top of my head, while saying, “Shh, shh,” over and over again to try and soothe me.

I don’t know how long I stay there dissolved in tears with Jackson as my shoulder to cry on. The last time this happened was so long ago, but he’s equally as comforting now as he was back then. He knows that I don’t need words, I just need to know that someone’s there.

It lasts for so long that I tire myself out and my tear ducts all but dry up. Then, I’m left sputtering for air and gasping for breath while still leaning against him, his fingers trailing lightly over my hair. When I’m breathing normally again, I lift my head up so I can look at him. Even in the low light, I can see that his eyes are concerned and wondering what could’ve possibly happened to put me in such a state as this.

“Can I ask?” he finally says.

My throat tightens as the tears threaten to return. I bite down hard on my lower lip to stop them, and it only does a little bit of good. “Matthew,” I breathe, my voice low to keep it from cracking.

“What did he do?” Jacksons asks, his body tensing.

I shake my head violently, so much so that my hair flies. “He…” I clear my throat and swallow. “He wants a break from us.”

Jackson’s mouth opens and then closes again as he mulls over what I’ve said. After it sinks in, he doesn’t respond, he just nods and encourages me back to his side once I lean that way again.

My cries are softer and slower now, but still present. “I know,” he whispers. “I know.” He rubs my outer arm and keeps a firm hold on me, just enough to make me feel safe and held. “I got you.”

“I came to the hospital to get my mind off it,” I say after another long period of silence. “I thought it would work.” I shake my head softly. “It didn’t.”

“That’s okay,” he says quietly. “It was probably best to get away from home for a while.”

I nod, agreeing with him. His lab coat is rough against my cheek, but I don’t make any effort to move. His arm around me feels too good; I feel so protected by being this close to him that I wish I could stay here for the rest of the day.

But I tell him, “You don’t have to stay,” while staring down at his opposite hand that’s resting on the floor next to his outstretched legs. “You probably have lots of stuff to do.”

“It all can wait,” he says, and I can feel his mouth moving against my hair.

“Are you sure?” I ask, absentmindedly running the lapel of his lab coat through my first two fingers.

“Of course I am,” he says, and I think I feel him situate his arm tighter around me. “I’m not gonna leave you while you’re this upset.”

“I just don’t think it’s going to get any better,” I say, and then realize how loaded my words are. I meant them in the context of my breakdown, but after they come out I realize how they could be directed towards my marriage, too. I wonder if Jackson takes them that way, but I don’t bother asking. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop.”

“I can stay here for as long as you need,” he says. “Or go, whenever you want me to go.”

“No, don’t go,” I say, and stay quiet for a few minutes before speaking up again. “Thanks for being here. I know we haven’t been the-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, cutting me off. “I’m here now and so are you. That’s what matters.”

I sniffle and fold my arms into my chest. I don’t feel like crying again, but I feel empty and depleted. My stomach hurts like I’ve been sucker-punched and my eyes are sore and creaky, and probably puffy beyond belief. I relax totally against Jackson and resist the urge to fall asleep, knowing that would be pushing it too far, especially during the middle of a workday. But now, for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. And that’s something I’m not quite ready to give up yet.

Another fifteen minutes or so pass before I feel like I’m ready to get up. I sit up straight and wipe beneath my eyes, and take in a cleansing breath. “You okay?” he asks, craning his neck to look at me.

“I can make it,” I say, standing up and brushing myself off. I dig a tissue out of my pocket and blow my nose into it, then help him up from the floor. “Thanks again for…” I sigh and blink up at him with glassy eyes. “Being here.”

“My timing is pretty amazing,” he says, leading the way out of the closet. “I also don’t remember what I came in here for.”

***

The rest of the day happens quickly and without drama. I remove myself from everything and it’s almost like I take a step back so I can watch myself go through the motions; which isn’t half bad. Staying numb while I can is better than feeling everything at once, and I stay in that mode until I step foot out of the hospital and breathe in the crisp fall Chicago air.

I had looked for Jackson before I left, but he was nowhere to be found. I figured he got off earlier than I did, so I hadn’t spent a lot of time trying to hunt him down. I just wanted to thank him again for being there for me when no one else was, but I’ll probably see him tomorrow. So I can do it then.

I get a bad taste in my mouth as I drive home and wonder what Matthew will be up to when I get there. I’m already not looking forward to the strained silence and the forced cordiality that will undoubtedly be present between us. I wish I had somewhere besides home to go, but I really don’t. It’s my only option. Plus, I don’t want Matthew to think I’m avoiding him just because he wants to take a break. I don’t want him to think I’m giving up on us. That’s not what I was taught to do.

I park the car the garage and grab my stuff from the back. When I head inside, the house is colder than usual, so I stop by the thermostat to turn it up a few notches before getting comfortable. It’s quiet in here and it feels bigger than normal, almost in a creepy way.

I set my stuff down on the kitchen island and look around suspiciously. Something is different, but I don’t know what. I survey the area and can’t seem to find anything out of place, so I move onto the next room. Everything is the same in the den, but something in this house feels shifted and I can’t put my finger on it.

I preheat the oven for dinner and try to shake the feeling, but it won’t go away. While it’s heating up, I slowly walk up the stairs to go change my clothes and wash my face. I get to our room at the end of the hallway, expecting to possibly see Matthew in our bed taking a nap, but it’s made to the point of sharpness. It’s so cleanly done that it looks like no one has ever slept in it before, no less in the past 12 hours. I wonder why he made it like that, because I was the last one to sleep there, and I left it a mess this morning.

I don’t think about it for too long, though, because I can’t. When I open the door to our shared closet, what I see practically knocks me to the floor. Half of it is gone. Completely empty. All of my clothes are still hanging there in their colorful array, but on the side that had been his now just holds a line of empty hangers.

I cover my mouth with one hand and am too shocked to cry. I dart away from the closet and hurry to his armoire, where I open the drawers to find them all in the same state. Empty. I go to the bathroom and open his side of the medicine cabinet only to find it cleared out, too. Everything of his is gone. He took it. He moved out.

I dig my phone out of my pocket to call his number, but it takes me a few tries because my fingers are shaking too badly. He doesn’t answer, so I hang up and dial him again. And again, when he ignores my call a second time. Finally, when I get it through my head that he’s screening me, I resort to just leaving a message.

“So is this it?” I ask, and am surprised by how calm my voice sounds. It’s trembling, but levelheaded. “All your stuff. Just gone. Where are you even staying? I thought you said you wanted a _break_ , not a…” I can’t even bring myself to say the word. “Not this. God, please answer my call. I need to talk to you.” I hang up and sit down on the edge of the bed. I feel so betrayed that he would do all this while I was at work. I feel ambushed, like he was just waiting for me to leave before he could sneak out from under me.

I call him back, knowing that voicemail will open again. “Seriously, you couldn’t even tell me you were leaving? Everything is just gone…imagine how this feels for me. I don’t know why you’re doing this. I feel like I don’t know you all of a sudden. Why are you doing this to us? Are you ever coming back?” I hang up before I can sound any more desperate.

When I pull open the dialpad again, it’s not Matthew’s number that I call. And Jackson answers on the first ring. “April? Is everything okay?” he asks.

“I…” My voice breaks and I feel the tears threaten to come again. “No,” I say truthfully. “Can I see you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**JACKSON**

I’ve just finished with rounds and I’m on my way to the supply closet to get more gauze pads for a patient of mine when I come across her. I hear a strange sound coming from behind the door, but it’s just quiet enough that I liken it to my brain playing tricks on me and walk inside anyway. 

When I go in, I see the source of the sound right away. Someone small is balled up towards the back of the closet with their legs pulled to their chest, trying their hardest to quiet themselves from crying so loudly. I don’t need a second glance to know that it’s April, and my protective instincts kick in without me having any say in the matter. 

“April, what’s going on?” I ask, shutting the door behind me as I come inside. She’s looking up at me with wide, glassy eyes and a trembling chin. I haven’t seen her look this distraught for years, and it feels like someone is stabbing me in the chest. 

She doesn’t answer me. I don’t think she can. She starts crying again without trying to muffle herself, so I don’t waste any time with sinking down to the ground and wrapping my arm around her to try and comfort her. She melts into me without second-guessing herself, her head beneath my chin, and I rock us side to side while making soft, comforting sounds. 

I pet her hair for a while as she cries it out, wondering if she’s ever going to stop. I don’t know how someone can cry for this long without getting seriously dehydrated, and I’m starting to worry about that.

Her hair is soft and wavy today, all down and not in a ponytail, and I like the way it feels under my fingers. It feels like it always used to.

I’m still stroking her hair when she stops sobbing and tries to catch her breath. Finally, she sits up and looks at me, and I get a chance to see her face again. Her cheeks are shiny with tearstains and her skin is blotchy from all this, along with her puffy red eyes. 

“Can I ask?” I say, knowing she probably won’t be able to tell me. I haven’t been very welcoming to her since she arrived, and I know that. But deep in my heart, she’s still my best friend and she always will be. There’s no way to erase our past together, and she has to know that I’ll always care. 

She twitches as she forces away an errant sob, and bites her lower lip to help keep it back. “Matthew,” she hiccups. 

I can’t help but jump to the worst conclusions. Did he cheat on her? Did he hit her? My eyes scan her visible skin for bruises and I don’t see any, but I know that doesn’t mean it couldn’t be happening. “What did he do?” I ask. 

She shakes her head. “He…” Her voice breaks, so she clears her throat and tries again. “He wants a break from us.”

My body floods with an unnameable emotion. Relief, I think, but I’m not sure. I tell myself that I’m just relieved that he didn’t hit her or abuse her in any way, but a small part of me knows that I’m lying to myself. My relief is not based in happiness for her, it’s based in happiness for myself. And that’s not right, especially given the circumstances. I don’t have much to say, but I feel the need to since she’s looking at me expectantly with those big, sad hazel eyes. I open my mouth and try to think of something that might make this better, but no words come to mind. I close my mouth again and resign to pulling her back to my side, trying to make her feel better in the way that I know how. 

She starts to cry again, but in a less violent way. I rub her arm and say, “I know, I know,” as we rock back and forth. “I got you.” 

She’s quiet for a long time before she speaks again. “I came to the hospital to get my mind off it,” she says. “I thought it would work. It didn’t.” 

I smile a bit at how young her voice sounds. She’s reminding me of the old April; the naive virgin who clawed her way up from the bottom to become something none of us ever expected. “That’s okay,” I say. “It was probably best to get away from home for a while.” 

She nods and lets out a little sigh. “You don’t have to stay,” she pipes up, and my stomach sinks. I don’t exactly want this moment to end. “You probably have lots of stuff to do.” 

“It all can wait,” I say, somewhat truthfully. I’m sure there’s something waiting for me, but nothing life-threatening or pressing. What’s most important to me right now is staying here with her and making sure she’s okay. 

She holds the lapel of my lab coat and runs it through her fingers. As she does that small, mundane motion, it dawns on me that this is the closest we’ve physically been in over two years, and nothing is awkward. We fell right back into the way things used to be. “Are you sure?” she asks. 

“Of course I am,” I say, and squeeze her lightly. “I’m not gonna leave you while you’re this upset.” 

“I just don’t think it’s going to get any better,” she says, pausing slightly after she speaks. I wonder what she’s talking about and in what context. Is she saying that her marriage isn’t going to work? I’m surprised that she’d come out and say it so blatantly. “I don’t think I’m going to be able to stop.” Then it dawns on me that she doesn’t mean her marriage; she means calming down. That  _ that _ won’t work.

“I can stay here for as long as you need,” I assure her, then wonder if I’m stepping over any lines. I don’t want to make her feel weird about this. “Or go, whenever you want me to go.” 

“No, don’t go,” she says quickly. “Thanks for being here. I know we haven’t been the-” 

I cut her off before she can finish. I already know what she’s going to say, because I’d been thinking the same thing. “Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m here now and so are you. That’s what matters.”

She takes in a deep breath and pulls her arms up close to her body, then we spend a while just sitting in silence. She doesn’t cry, but she doesn’t explain anything more, either. Suddenly, she sits up and looks at me while wiping underneath her eyes. “You okay?” I ask. 

“I can make it,” she says, but her voice is still wavering. She blows her nose and I stand up, too. “Thanks again for being here.” 

I try to lighten the mood. “My timing is pretty amazing,” I say, and open the door to leave. “I also don’t remember what I came in here for.” 

***

I can’t stop thinking about mine and April’s interaction for the rest of the day, even though I try. I know it’s not my place to have her in my mind, even while things are rocky with her and Matthew. Though that’s true, he’s still her husband. And I don’t know if it was okay for me to have her in my arms in the way that I did, but there’s nothing I can do to take it back now. There’s also nothing I can do to get the way she felt pressed up against me out of my head, either, and it’s driving me crazy. 

So I do what I think will help me clear my head. I invite a casual friend of mine over for drinks at my place tonight; drinks that we both know clearly mean something else. Her name is Maya, and we’ve seen each other a few times before in situations like this. She leaves after we finish and doesn’t want any strings attached, just in the same way I don’t. We use each other to clear our heads and that’s all. There’s nothing complicated. 

I’ve just opened the door for her to come inside when my phone rings on the kitchen counter. I glance over at it and see that it’s April, which I hadn’t expected. I only gave her my new number a week or so ago, and up until this point she hasn't used it.

I know how fragile she is, though, so there’s no way I’m ignoring her.  I don’t even bother with hello. “April? Is everything okay?” 

“I…” From just the one syllable, I can hear how different her voice sounds. The sadness from earlier is now mixed with rage in some sort of ominous combination. “No. Can I see you?” 

My eyes flick to Maya, who’s watching me confusedly. I inhale deeply and know that it’s useless to pretend that it’s even a decision I have to think about. “Of course,” I say. “I’ll text you my address.” 

She says that she’ll be here soon, and when I hang up Maya looks pissed. “Seriously?” she asks, popping her hip over to one side with attitude. “You’re kicking me out.” 

“I’m...not,” I say. “My friend - she’s going through a-” 

“You shouldn’t double-book, Jackson,” she says, throwing her purse back over her shoulder. “Fuck you. Don’t call me again.” She slams the door as she leaves and I’m left staring at it wearing a bewildered expression. Once her footsteps are inaudible, I shake my head to clear my thoughts and then focus on the fact that April is going to be here, in my apartment, the two of us alone, in just a few minutes. 

When the doorbell rings, I jolt up from my spot on the couch and buzz the door open. I wait in the entryway so she doesn’t have to knock, and when she gets out of the elevator, her head is bowed and I can see that she’s toting a bag. When she looks up, she forces half a grin and a little wave. “Nice place,” she says, glancing around once I invite her inside and shut the door behind us. 

“Thanks,” I say, and she kicks her shoes off. 

“I… I brought some stuff. I don’t really know what I planned on doing with it, but I just couldn’t be...there,” she says. 

“I don’t think I could, either,” I say. “Do you want something to eat?” 

“I’d rather have something to drink,” she says. “But yeah, I am kind of hungry.” 

“What sounds good?” I ask. 

She shrugs and sits down at the breakfast bar like she’s been here a million times before. “I don’t know,” she says. “Chinese?” 

I chuckle. “Chinese, seriously?” She nods. “Alright, your wish is my command.” I pick up my phone and call the delivery place closest to the house, and put in an order that could feed a small army. 

I don’t know what she wants to do; whether she wants to hash out what happened or if she came here to forget about it. I can’t get a good gauge on her. She seems withdrawn, but it doesn’t look like she’s been crying. I don’t know how it would be possible for her to cry any more tears, I’d think she’d be dried up after everything that happened earlier. 

“There was a girl down there in the lobby,” April says. “She gave me the nastiest look.” 

“I...yeah,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck before leaning forward with my elbows on the counter. “Listen, April, do you want to talk about...anything?” 

She stares down at her hands and touches each of her fingertips together. “I don’t know if I can,” she says soberly, moving her lips over to one side. “I don’t want a repeat performance of this morning.” 

“We don’t have to, you know, get into it,” I say. “I just hate that he hurt you.” 

She looks up at the ceiling, maybe trying to ward off tears. “Same here,” she says. “But I know I hurt him, too.” She sighs, and I hear her breath quake. “He called on my way here.” 

I tense up. “He did? What did he say?” 

She shrugs one shoulder and clears her throat. “That we’re over?” 

I can’t keep my mouth from gaping. “Just like that?” I ask. “You’re kidding.” 

Her face is dead serious. “I’m not,” she says, shaking her head. 

I want so badly to ask what this all stemmed from, but I know that’s probably pushing too far. I don’t want to send her spiraling when she’s in a somewhat okay position; she came here to get away from the bad feelings and I don’t want to push them back down on her. “I’ll make you a drink,” I say. 

“If you have wine, I’ll just take that,” she says. 

I chuckle. “I know you and your wine.” 

I pour her a glass and she takes a big sip of it. “Keep that bottle out,” she says. “Because I just got divorced.” 

Her words hit me like a blow to the face. “April, you don’t…” I sigh and ponder what I want to say. “You don’t have to put on a happy face for me, you know that, right?” 

She takes another big gulp. “I know,” she says. 

“Okay, good.” 

We move over to the couch and I turn on the TV that’s playing a local college basketball game - DePaul against Loyola. “Who do we root for?” April asks, pulling her legs up to sit cross-legged. She holds her almost-empty wine goblet on her knee, balancing it precariously with only two fingers. 

“You hate sports,” I say, smiling over at her. 

“I’m trying to be a real Chicagoan,” she says. “You seem to fit right in here, so I’m depending on you to teach me the ropes. So tell me. Who are we cheering for?”

I continue to smile her way as she turns back to the screen. “Well, I’m not huge into college basketball. If you really wanna seem like you’re from Chicago, you have to be ready to die for the Cubs.”

She pinches her lips and nods thoughtfully. “The Cubs. And they’re…?” 

“Baseball,” I answer. “They just won the World Series for the first time in 108 years. The city went crazy.” 

“Did you?” she asks, giggling. 

“No,” I admit. “I was working. We got a lot of stupid drunk injuries, though. The worst one was from a guy who had been climbing up a streetlamp and fell about fifteen feet to the ground.” 

“Dumbass,” she mutters, and shakes her head. 

“So there are the Cubs and the Bulls. The Bulls are basketball. Oh, and also the Blackhawks, they’re hockey.” 

She raises her eyebrows and finishes off her wine, leaning over to grab the bottle from the floor so she can refill her glass. “Hockey?” she asks. “Seriously? You hate hockey.”

“It’s so stupid,” I say, rolling my eyes. “I really can’t get into that one.” 

She studies the TV. “I think I’ll root for the blue team,” she says. “DePaul. That means you have to root for the other team, so one of us can lose.”

“What happens when one of us wins?” I ask. 

She shrugs. “We’ll figure something out.” 

When the food comes, I set it up on the dining room table and we eat there. She’s on her third glass of wine, and has loosened up considerably. “I hope you don’t think it’s weird or pushy that I brought overnight stuff,” she says. “I just couldn’t be at home.”

“I already told you I don’t think it’s weird,” I say, using my chopsticks to eat a piece of chicken. April’s resorted to using either her fingers or a fork, because chopsticks have proven to be too much for her in the state she’s slowly finding herself in. 

She goes to pour more wine, but I stop her hand. “What?” she asks, feigning innocence. 

“Bartender’s cutting you off for the night,” I say. 

“I’m not driving,” she says. “Plus, I just got  _ divorced _ .” 

“April…”

“I’m allowed to say it like that. It happened to me.” 

“I know, but…” I trail off and take another bite, then shake my head. I don’t really know what to say, but I don’t want her to feel like she has to make jokes about it just to make me feel more comfortable. But maybe the jokes make  _ her _ feel comfortable, I don’t know. I have no idea what’s going on inside her wine-filled head. 

“You know, he thought I came here because of you,” she says, her mouth full of rice. 

“Came...here?” I ask. “Like here. To this house.” 

She waves her fork in the air. “No, no. Here to Chicago. He thought we made the move because you’re here.” 

I stare at her for a long time, wondering how the hell I’m supposed to respond. “Well...did you?” I finally ask, and wonder if that was okay to put out there. I’ve wanted to know ever since she showed up, but until now never had the platform to ask. I never thought I would, either. 

She looks at me headily, those hazel eyes practically branding me with their intensity. “Yeah,” she answers, after a long period of silence. 

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out at first. I have to gather my thoughts before anything of worth can escape me. “Oh,” I say. “I didn’t know.”

“Of course I did,” she says, her eyes slits now. “The two years with no contact with you were hell for me. You took away our friendship without even consulting me, do you know how much that hurt?” 

When she says it like that, it makes me feel guilty for all that I did. The not talking, the ignoring her phone calls, the icing her out at the hospital just a month or so ago. It wasn’t fair to her. But then again, in my mind she hadn’t been fair to me. I don’t know how right I was in thinking that now, but the time has passed. 

“I missed you,” she says. “And I wanted you back. In the most innocent sense of the word, I wanted you in my life. And this was the only way I knew how to do it, to come to you. And I didn’t tell him you were here because I knew he’d never go for it. He’d be stupid to go for it if he knew. So I did lie. I kind of lied. And we came here, and you didn’t want me here.” 

“At first…” 

“At first,” she continues. “And I wasn’t happy here. If you didn’t want me here, it was all for nothing. I thought I had moved us for nothing. But then things changed, and Matthew and I changed, and… now the us that we had is nothing.” She shakes her head and keeps on eating. “I never thought I’d be saying that,” she whispers. 

“I’m really sorry,” I say. “If that makes any difference.” 

“It does,” she says, nodding. “It does.” We’re quiet as we finish up our plates, and then she speaks again. “I think he knew that… I think he knew that I’d always choose you.” 

I take in a sharp breath as her eyes meet mine. She licks her lips and bites on the middle of her top one, wondering how I’m going to respond. I hardly know what to say. But before I can speak, she cracks open a fortune cookie and reads it out loud. “Change can hurt, but it leads a path to something better.” 

She starts laughing; just giggling at first, and then so hard that her eyes squint closed and she doubles over with her forehead on the table. I can’t help but join in with her; that laughter has always been infectious. We don’t stop until my stomach hurts and she has mascara running down her cheeks, and she tries to wipe it away with the heels of her hands. “That would be really damn sad,” she says, letting out a long breath. “If it weren’t so depressingly funny.” 

We clean up the table and then go back and sit on the couch just as the game is ending, and DePaul wins. April’s arms shoot into the air in a victory stance, and she giggles as she puts them back down. “I won,” she informs me smugly.

“I saw that,” I say. 

“So what do I get?” she asks, leaning back against the couch and looking at my face with intensity. Her eyes shift down to my lips, and I don’t waste the opportunity in looking down at hers. They’re parted just slightly with the hint of a smile; a smile that grows when she sees where my eyes have gone. 

“Anything you want,” I say, and our faces slowly move closer together. I can feel her breath mix with my own; neither of us smell the greatest, but we ate the same Chinese food so it’s not too bad. She presses the side of her nose to mine and my stomach clenches with excitement and nerves as I wonder how this is happening so quickly. I beg my rationale to kick in, but it never does. Her lips are less than centimeters away from my own and I’m going to kiss her. 

And I do. She holds my neck in her hands as our lips press together, not wasting any time with gentle touches. We kiss passionately like we never forgot how, our lips moving against each other like we’re getting to know one another all over again. 

I get her on her back on the couch and settle between her legs, realizing that I’m hard already. Ever since I saw her face in Chicago, in the back of my mind I knew that this would be begging to happen. I just never thought that it actually would. On most of the nights that I’m here alone, I spend time lying in bed and thinking about her, so it’s wild to me that she’s beneath me right now, kissing the life out of me. 

She runs her hands underneath my shirt and pulls it off over my head, then I move my face lower so I can run my tongue over the warm skin of her neck. Her pulse is hammering through the soft spot between her collarbones, so I press my lips to it and suck a tiny bit of the skin into my mouth. I feel the sound she makes more than I hear it, and that makes me twitch inside my pants knowing that in so little time, I’m capable of reducing her to moans. 

When we break apart, she presses her palms flat to my chest and stares up at me with lustful eyes. “I want you,” she whispers. 

I pick her up off the couch and she squeals, smiling as she holds onto me. I bring her into my bedroom and gently toss her down onto the bed, and then crawl over her again. I talk as I’m kissing her, taking breaks between my words to press my lips to hers. “Of course,” I say. “I want you.” I pull her shirt off roughly over her head, and then go back for her lips. “I wanted you then, when I stood up at the wedding.” I unclip her bra with expert ease and cover one of her nipples with my mouth, smiling against her as I hear her react with a gasp. 

Her fingers ghost over my head as I move from her breast to the middle of her chest, over to the other side. It’s been such a long time since we’ve been intimate, but nothing about her body has changed. I still know exactly what to touch and how it’ll make her feel; what she likes best and what drives her crazy. I don’t think there’s a way that I could ever forget. 

I drag my teeth over her skin and she takes in a sharp breath of surprise. She murmurs my name and I kiss my way down her torso until I get to the waist of her jeans, and with that I undo the gold button and slide the zipper slowly down. Her hips squirm in my hands, pushing me to go faster, but I don’t. I pull her pants down and see that she’s wearing pink underwear patterned with flowers with a tiny bow at the top, and all I want to do is get them off of her. And I know that’s what she wants, too. 

But I force myself to take my time. I look up at her through my eyelashes and see that she’s watching me intently, so I smile and press my tongue over the fabric of her underwear. Her body goes weak, laying back fully on the mattress, and her legs bow out wider. I run my tongue over the same spot and can hear her breathing hitch in her throat as I quicken my pace, and at this point I’m painfully aroused, too. But I’m going to let her go first; I’ve already made up my mind on that tonight. I’m going to make her come as many times as she wants. 

After my saliva has all but soaked through her underwear, I pull them off and connect my mouth directly to her. She moans and grabs onto my shoulders, and I feel her hips arch from the bed involuntarily so I’ll give her what I know she needs. I get bolstered with self-confidence once it occurs to me that Matthew probably couldn’t ever do this for her - not in the way that I can. 

I know when she’s close, because her breathing becomes more rapid and shallow and she starts to writhe like she wants to find a way out of her own body. I suck the little bundle of nerves between my lips and when I hear her start to come undone, I shove my hand inside my pants and stroke myself along with her. I hadn’t realized how much I missed not only the way she makes me feel, but the way that I know how to make her feel as well. It makes our intimacy all the more authentic - that I know just how to make her come. I feel pretty confident in thinking that I’m the one person in this world who can say that. 

Once her orgasm is finished, she pulls me up from between her legs and attacks me with open-mouthed kisses. I can feel the heat still radiating from her core as I rest between her legs, and I want nothing more than to be inside her and remember the way that she feels wrapped around me.

I don’t have to wait long, either. She directs my hips where she wants them and my hips buck inside her almost like I can’t control myself. With the first thrust, I bury my face in her neck and stay there with my lips connected to the slope before her shoulder, and I feel her hands on me everywhere that they can reach. As I feel myself getting dangerously close to the edge, her fingernails rake down my back and she presses her face against the side of my head and whispers for me to go first. Just feeling her hot, shaky breath so close to my ear is all I need to send me just the slightest bit further, and I come inside her for the first time in years. 

I knew that it felt good to have sex with her, but I forgot exactly  _ how _ good. The feeling of orgasming with my hips still undulating slowly against hers is too heady for me to even begin wrapping my mind around. I open my eyes and look down at her face, which is open and breathtaking as she starts to come again, and I gather everything I have left and kiss her with all I’ve got. She moans into my mouth and wraps her arms around my neck, and we come undone together, finding our body’s rhythms even after all this time apart. 

As we lie next to each other when it’s over, I feel like I can’t be close enough to her. We clean ourselves up and get into pajamas, and now she’s in a thin, black camisole and a pair of little blue underwear that look more like shorts. I just threw on a pair of gray sweatpants and climbed back into bed, finding her already there huddled under the covers and waiting for my warmth. 

I’m tired when I get home from a long shift, but it’s the bone-tired kind. The kind of exhausted I’m feeling right now is sweet, warm and comforting, knowing that she’s the one who worked me to feeling like this. I pull her into my arms and she tucks herself into my chest, lazily pressing her lips to my skin before throwing one arm over my side to keep me close. 

“In the wedding,” she murmurs, her voice slurred with sleep. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

I can barely keep my eyes open, but I muster enough strength to trail a fingertip down her spine. I wait a long moment before answering, wondering what I could say that would encompass all the reasons why I couldn’t force myself to do it. “I wanted a chance for you,” I finally say, my lips pressed to her hair. “I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t know if I could give you that.” 

I think I hear her say something else, but only in the very back recesses of my mind, because I can’t stay awake any longer. I fall asleep with April in my arms, knowing that I never want to fall asleep again in any other way. 

***

In the morning, I open my eyes and the first thing I see is a mess of red hair. I smile to myself and brush it away from my mouth and then pet the frizz down, though it's basically an impossible task. My eyes graze over April; she's a heavy sleeper so none of my actions have woken her in the slightest. Her lips are pouted out and her face is open and free of any worry, and as she's tucked up in the crook of my shoulder, her arms are thrown over her head all loose and lazy. My eyes continue downward and see that as she's moved around in her sleep, her tank top has gotten turned around and dislodged from how she originally wore it. Now it's pulled down and sideways, which means that her braless chest is exposed and tempting me. 

I glance to her face again and after seeing that her eyes are still closed, I wind my free arm that's not stuck under her head around her waist. She's tiny, so I can pretty much wrap it completely around her as I lower my head down and press my lips softly to her collarbone and then mark a path down further.

She makes a soft sound when I open my mouth against her breast, and I can't help but smile against her. I slip my hand up the front of her top to rest on her belly, and then slowly cover her nipple with my tongue and suck it into my mouth. 

She's in the process of waking up now, which I'm glad for. She takes in a heavy, deep breath as my mouth continues to work on her, and then moans lightly as her back arches off the bed in a big stretch. 

“Morning, Jackson,” she says, her voice scratchy as she runs her fingertips over my head. 

“Morning,” I say, my voice gravelly too as my lips move over the flat plain between her breasts. I lift my eyes to her face and see that she’s already smiling. 

**APRIL**

Lying there with Jackson, basking in the afterglow of what we did, should feel worse than it does. Both my body and mind are so tired, so when he pulls out of me and I immediately want more, I have to reel myself in. There’s no way I have enough energy for that tonight, no matter how much I would like to. 

I turn towards him and smile, my head feeling light and a little fuzzy from the wine earlier, and trail one finger down his chest. My heart feels like it’s going to explode; seeing him lying next to me dressed in absolutely nothing is something I never thought I’d see again, and I could get very used to it. 

“I’m gonna get cleaned up,” I whisper, and he turns his face to look at me. He gives me a long kiss with one hand cupping my jaw, and I can feel his eyes on me, watching me as I get up out of his bed with nothing on. 

I come back dressed in half the pajamas I brought. In my bag is a set consisting of a long-sleeved shirt and pants, because I hadn’t expected tonight to go in the way it did. Having sex with him was not on my short list of things to do, but it happened. It happened and now we have to deal with it. 

I climb under the covers in my underthings and curl into myself as I wait for him. When he comes to bed, he’s wearing gray sweatpants like he always used to, and that makes me smile. I lift the covers open for him and he crawls in, and I immediately gravitate to him so he can warm me up. I tuck myself close to his body and kiss his chest, then sling one arm over his waist before closing my eyes. I’m so sleepy, but the same question won’t stop ringing through my mind. It’s so pressing that I have to ask it, there’s no way I can fall asleep without putting it out there.

“In the wedding,” I say. “Why didn’t you stop me?” 

He makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and trails one finger down my back, which gives me goosebumps. He kisses the top of my head, and I can feel his lips move against my hair when he speaks. “I wanted a chance for you,” he says. “I wanted you to be happy. I didn’t know if I could give you that.” 

My throat clogs from his words. I never expected him to say something like that. “I think you’re the only one who can give me that,” I whisper, becoming lulled by the steady beat of his heart against my cheek. “And I think you know that, too.” 

He’s quiet and unresponsive, and I think that maybe I’ve somehow gone too far. Feeling nervous, I peer up at him to gauge his reaction, but smile to myself after seeing that he’s only fallen asleep. So I lay my head back down, squeeze my arm tighter around his body, and close my eyes, too. 

***

I wake up in the morning with a smile on my face because of Jackson’s mouth on my breast. I run my hands over the smooth skin of his head and take in a deep breath as I arch my back off the mattress, getting as close to him as I possibly can. “Morning, Jackson,” I say. 

“Morning,” he replies, and I lay my hands flat on his back. After stripping me of my camisole, he turns his head to the side and rests his cheek over my ribcage, where he rises and falls with each of my breaths. We’re quiet, just enjoying each other’s company for a while, before he starts to chuckle softly. 

“What?” I ask. 

He shakes his head, seemingly at himself. “Just…” he sighs. “I should’ve known this would happen.” 

“What?” I ask again, confused. “You couldn’t have known - I didn’t. We… I didn’t come here last night planning on...thinking that we’d...” 

“No, I know,” he says, picking his head up. “I didn’t go into it thinking that, either.” He folds his fingers together over my belly and then rests his chin on top of them. “But with the way we ended up, look at us. I’m not surprised at all.” 

I open my mouth to argue against him, but realize I can’t. 

“There was a reason why I said I couldn’t be around you,” he says with a smile. 

“I knew why,” I say quietly. “I just thought that by now, we might have grown out of it.” 

He raises his eyebrows, which causes his forehead to crinkle. I pick up my hand from his back and use one finger to trace the lines, and keep going as he talks. “Grown out of it?” he asks. “I don’t think it’s possible to grow out of a person.” 

I move my hand upwards to smooth over his short hair. “I think it is,” I say, then shift my eyes down to his. He knows what I mean; I can tell by the way his eyes settle into the realization of who I’m talking about. It’s not him. 

“Okay, I see your point,” he says, then untucks one hand from beneath his chin to settle over my breast, where he just rests it comfortably. 

I stare up at the ceiling, breathing evenly with one hand settled under my neck and the other on his shoulder, where my thumb is rubbing in slow circles. “Can I tell you something?” I whisper, almost afraid to say it any louder. I feel him nod against me, then press his lips to the underside of my breast casually. “I thought about you,” I say. 

“I thought about you, too,” he says, kissing the same spot again. I feel my nipple harden as his thumb brushes over it, and then goosebumps rise up on my arms. “A lot.” 

“I thought about you during times I really shouldn’t have,” I admit, still finding it hard to glance down and see how he’s looking at me. I take in a deep breath, and his body rises in tandem with the motion. “The last time Matthew and I…” I clear my throat to insinuate what I mean. “I thought about you to make myself… you know.” 

I finally look down at him and see that a grin is sneaking its way onto his face, finding his eyes first. “You pretended that he was me so you could come,” he says, pretending to be appalled. 

I use my free hand to cover my eyes. “It’s bad.” We’re joking, but saying it loud is only making this all the more real for me. But at the same time, it’s hard to feel guilty when the bad feelings are being shrouded by feeling completely and utterly… in love. I can’t remember the last time I felt this blinded by someone lying right in front of me; or more specifically, on top of me. 

“Well, we’ve all done it,” he says, shrugging it off.

“You?” I say, the pitch of my voice rising. “Did you do it, too?” 

The corners of his mouth turn down and he animatedly shrugs. “Me? No…” 

I gasp. “You so did. You thought about me when you were with other girls.” 

His fingers close over my breast and then he pushes himself up so he can kiss my jaw. “Okay, you caught me. I’ve totally envisioned you while I was fucking other girls.”

I recoil slightly from his word choice. “Don’t say it like that,” I say. “That sounds so… bad.”

“What?” he asks. “Fucking?” I nod, still cringing slightly. “What’s wrong with that?” 

I smooth his eyebrows down with my thumbs. “I don’t know, it just sounds so… I don’t know. Would you describe what we do like that?”

“Fucking?” he asks again, and I give him a deadpan, unamused stare. 

“Jackson.” 

He chuckles at himself. “No, probably not,” he says. “It’s different. I mean, the act is still fucking, but it’s not  _ just _ a fuck.”

“That word is so ugly,” I say.

“Good thing you make up for it, then,” he says, and kisses my lips. When he comes up for air, he tucks his head beneath my jaw and into the crook of my neck, where he licks a path up from my shoulder to my earlobe. I roll my eyes at him and wind one leg around his so my foot is resting on his calf and my core is pressed against his hip. 

“You know when I saw you…” I breathe, in a trance of some sort by the way his lips feel on my neck, “In the hospital, that first night. It was like… I can’t even describe to you the feeling.” 

“Like seeing me stand up at your wedding?” he asks, his voice a bit muffled. 

I snort. “No, better than that,” I say. “It was like I knew I had made the right decision in coming here.”

“Then I was a total jerk to you,” he says, moving his hand back to my breast. 

“But you hugged me,” I say. “And that told me everything I needed to know. You hugged me like you used to.”

“Like this?” he asks, and playfully growls as he wraps his arms around me as tight as he can. I squeal with laughter and hold onto him as he jiggles me around, and then punch his shoulder lightly once he lets me go. 

“Yeah, like that. Idiot.” We laugh, and he goes back to kissing me. At this rate, I never want him to stop. We have a lot of lost time to make up for. 

“You left Seattle because of me, didn’t you?” I ask, latching my hands together over his shoulder blades. I feel my skin crinkle as I press my chin to my chest so I can see him, but I don’t mind. “Because you didn’t want to be around me. The married version of me.” 

He nods. “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t be there.” 

“Why did you leave so… mad?” I ask. “You wouldn’t talk to me. You wouldn’t answer my calls, then you changed your number. I didn’t know what I did to make you hate me.”

“I already told you that I never hated you,” he says. “I just… I was more mad at myself than anything. I had every chance to tell you how I felt, and I didn’t do it. I almost did, and then I backed out again. I hated myself for not going through with it, and it was just going to be twisting the knife by going into work every day and seeing you living out your happily married life. Either that, or I’d do something to ruin it. Kind of like I just did.”

“You didn’t do this,” I say. “Matthew and I… we did this. Things weren’t…” I shake my head. I don’t want to bring our ex-marital disputes into bed with Jackson and me. That is one place where they definitely don’t belong. “You didn’t make what happened to us, happen. That was between him and me.” 

“Well, I know perfectly well what I made happen last night,” he says, and throws the covers off of my legs. He starts to inch his way down so his head is at waist-level, and his fingers tease the waistband of my blue boyshort underwear. “And I think the neighbors know, too.”

My eyes widen. “I was  _ not _ that loud,” I insist.

“Whatever you say,” he says, kissing my inner thighs after prying them apart. 

I press my head back against the pillow as he traces the outline of my underwear. “Do you really think the neighbors knew we were…?” 

“Fucking?” 

I sit up, propped by my elbows. “Jackson!” He laughs, and I shove his shoulder with my foot.

“What? What bothers you so much about that word?” he asks. 

“It’s just so...ugh,” I say. “It’s so high school boy. So vulgar.” 

He crawls up from between my legs and I can feel his erection pressing up against the fabric of my underwear, which involuntarily makes my hips twitch upwards towards his. He rests his bodyweight on top of me, but the heaviness isn't a problem. “You’ve been known to be pretty vulgar between these sheets,” he says suggestively, moving some hair out of my face. I feel myself blush red. “And we weren’t allowed to cuss like that in boarding school, but we all did anyway. I even spray-painted it on a wall once, but I never got caught.”

“Typical Avery,” I say, rolling my eyes playfully. 

“Whatever, goody-two-shoes,” he says. “What was high school April like, then?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t have liked her,” I say, trailing my fingertips down his back. “I had a 4.32 GPA-”

“Wait, how is that even possible?” 

“Extra credit,” I say pointedly, touching his cheek. “Big teacher’s pet. I didn’t have any friends, really. I knew what everyone thought of me; they thought I was annoying and shrill and really nerdy. Which I was.” I scoff. “I had really big, frizzy hair. Wire-rimmed glasses and braces. I even had headgear for a little while there, that was a really bad time.” I shake my head at myself. “Boys didn’t even know I existed. Well, they did when they wanted me to write their papers for them. Which I did.”

“How much did you make them pay?” 

“I did it for free,” I admit. “It made me feel good to be nice.” Now he shakes his head. “I know, I know,” I say. “But to them I was the freaky-smart, ugly duckling, Jesus girl. The least I could do was get on their good side. At least that’s how I saw it.” My stomach jumps as I think back to those days and how much I’ve evolved since then. “The girls were horrible to me. If only they could see me now.” 

“In bed with an incredibly smart, incredibly hot plastic surgeon who would like nothing more than to get this last little piece of clothing off of you?” 

I giggle and pull his head down closer to mine with my fingers latched together at the base of his neck. “Exactly,” I say, then close the space between our lips. 

***

We fall back to sleep eventually, and I wake up around lunchtime. Luckily I’m not scheduled or on-call, so the day is completely free and open for me to spend how I want to. 

I slip out of Jackson’s bed without waking him and put on a bra and the pajama pants that I never got out of my bag. I leave the bedroom door cracked, peeking back in before walking out to smile at the sight of him lying on his back with one arm thrown over his head, completely relaxed. 

I explore the apartment for a few minutes, finally stopping in front of the wall-windows that look out over the lake. The sky is gray and cloudy today, something I’m very used to from living in Seattle, and that makes the lake look dark and ominous in its never-ending presence. I cross my arms over my chest and just stare out into the distance, my eyes gliding over the city that I’m coming to know. I always thought Seattle would be the last place I go; the place where I’d settle down and raise a family. I never planned on moving again, but I think I can get used to Chicago. 

A lot about me has changed here, and as I gaze out at the maze of buildings and ant-sized people down below, it’s all hitting me what's happened. Being around Jackson puts me in a sort of fugue state where I feel like I hardly have control of my actions. Before I met him, I would’ve never dreamed of doing something like this. I slept with him the day that Matthew asked for a divorce. The same exact day. Since when did that become something that I would do? I cross my arms tighter over my chest and rock back and forth on my heels. 

I’m ashamed of myself because I didn’t even let Matthew’s body get cold before I moved on to Jackson. That alone makes me feel like this was begging to happen; and even though I now know that it probably was, I feel uncomfortable with the fact that I was subconsciously waiting for it. I sabotaged my own marriage by coming here. I brought this divorce on. Last night, I told Jackson that it was both myself and Matthew that did it, but how true is that? Maybe Matthew was putting forth due effort for our relationship, and I was only putting forth a fraction because he wasn’t the one I wanted to be committed to.  _ Had  _ I wanted Jackson to speak when he stood up at our wedding? Back then, I told myself that I didn’t. I told myself that he mortified me by just standing, and imagine how I’d feel if he actually said something. But now… I’m not so sure if I was lying to myself to try and make my feelings for him disappear. 

I feel like I don’t know myself anymore. The old me wouldn’t have ever done this. I was raised to be loyal, dedicated, and loving, and I was none of those things towards Matthew. 

And the amount of feelings I have for Jackson scares me. 

I’m so deep inside my head that when I feel a pair of strong arms wrap around my waist from behind, it makes me jump. “Oh, sorry,” Jackson says, his voice close to my ear. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” I don’t say anything at first, we just stay staring out at the view in front of us. “Great view, isn’t it?” he asks. 

Then, I flip around so my hands are flat on his bare chest and his arms are around the small of my back. I look at him pensively, and he moves a strand of my hair off of my forehead. “What?” he asks. 

I lift my eyes to look into his. “What did we do?” I ask, my voice soft and wondering. He opens his mouth to answer, but I keep going. “I got divorced yesterday. Not even officially. I got separated yesterday, and the first thing I do is come over here and take advantage of you-”

He shakes his head and makes an incredulous sound. “You didn’t take advantage of me,” he says. “Trust me.” 

I gape for words. “Then what kind of people does that make us? What does this mean; were we  _ waiting _ for this to happen?” 

“No,” he says confidently. “We’re better than that. April, you didn’t come over here with ulterior motives in mind. You said that yourself; we’re friends, and you were going through a hard time.”

“I still am,” I say. “Going through that hard time. It’s been a day. A single day.” 

“Feels longer than that.”

He’s right. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I saw Matthew last, though it wasn’t even 48 hours ago. 

“But maybe I did come here with ulterior motives,” I say. “I feel like I don’t know myself. What kind of person am I if I seek out my best friend, who I have a sexual past with, for comfort? Who I know I can hardly control myself around?” 

“That makes you a person,” he says. “I’m your best friend. You’re mine. When we need something, we go to each other. That’s how best friends work.” 

My eyes flit everywhere, hardly pausing at any single point. “We’re more than that, though,” I say. “We’re more complicated. I knew what… I knew what could happen. And I know you did, too. You tried to keep us apart, you said you couldn’t be around me. And I knew why. I knew…” My sentence dies at the end as I get lost in my thoughts. “And I kept pushing.” I slam my palms to my forehead. I feel like I’ve betrayed Matthew and God all over again. I don’t know why I keep doing this; straying further and further from His light. It’s something I can’t seem to stop doing. “I pushed you,” I say to Jackson. “I’m always the one pushing.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, fixing the strap of my bra so it sits up on my shoulder instead of slipping down my arm. “No one pushed. We both gave in.” 

“So, it was waiting to happen.” 

He sighs. “No. It’s just… it’s us.”

“I feel like moving here wasn’t fair to him,” I say, and Jackson unwinds his arms from my waist. My skin feels cold where he left it. “Jackson, I think I did this on purpose.” 

Jackson takes a long time to weigh his thoughts before speaking up again. “April,” he begins, sitting down in an armchair that faces me. “Whatever you need to do. Whatever you want or don’t want from me, I’ll do my best to be it and be here for you. If that’s what you want.” 

My stomach jumps and twists from his words and then I feel more of the blame fall on myself. He knows exactly what to say, and I’m left with the guilt. He didn’t cheat on anyone, he didn’t purposefully ruin his own marriage for someone he’s been in love with since residency, he didn’t do any of that. That was all me. He’s got no hand in this - besides being the person who makes my mind go absolutely haywire over the myriad of feelings I have towards him. And maybe that’s a big enough part, after all. 

“I don’t know,” I admit, walking over to him. I sit on his lap and he pulls me to his chest, where I rest with my cheek on his shoulder and my forehead pressed to the side of his neck. 

“Let me know when you know,” he says softly, trailing his fingers down my spine. 

I blink and stare ahead, then wrap one arm around him to hold onto his shoulder. Judging from our physical position, I think we both know what I’ve already chosen. I’m making no moves to give him up. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay everyone - I'm finally caught up to everything I had written. That means I'm going to be writing in real time with my updates now, which also means they'll inevitably be coming slower. I am a pretty fast writer, though! I promise I'm not abandoning this story, I'm still working diligently on it every day. My guess is that updates will be once or twice a week now. There's still plenty of drama to be had ;) thank you all for sticking with me and this story, it means more than you know!

**JACKSON**

When I see April around the hospital, it’s impossible to keep the smile off my face. The day after she stayed over at my place we had ridden to the hospital together but gone in at staggered times, just so people wouldn’t start talking. So we’ve been keeping that plan up. She stays over a lot. We both tell ourselves it’s because her house is empty and too big for just one person, but I think we both know the real reason why she’s at my house pretty much every night.

We can’t stay away from each other.

We toed the line and then went tumbling over the edge headfirst, full force. I feel like I’m in high school again; the feelings that I have for her are even stronger than our first time around. Sometimes I’ll catch her doing something small and mundane as I sit in a rolling chair behind the nurses’ station and she won’t know that I’m watching her. Even if it’s just chewing a pen or scrolling absently through a tablet, those little movements are like magic to watch. I love the way she flips her hair over her shoulder, annoyed with it when she’s under pressure, and the way she flicks her lab coat behind her before stepping into a patient’s room. Even the way she puts the iPads back on the charging dock is cute, all slow and careful to make sure that they get plugged in correctly.

No one here knows about us, and it’s going to stay that way for a while. April’s made a good friend in Greg Collins from ortho, and we’ve laughed over how she has to stay especially careful in keeping her mouth closed around him. Even the slightest hint, and he’ll run with it around this whole place and everyone will know within the hour.

There’s no one who I have the inclination to tell. I like the little secret that we’re keeping between us; to me, it makes it more special. I like brushing the small of her back as I pass by, a seemingly casual, friendly motion to anyone looking on, but one that holds much more meaning between the two of us. I like the feeling that jolts up my arms when our fingers brush as we exchange a patient’s charts. But most of all, I like the feeling of getting her in an on-call room during the dead of night at the hospital, when nothing else is happening. Then, it feels like the world belongs to only the two of us.

A month has gone by since we slept together for the first time. A month, and yet it all feels brand new.

I’m standing at the OR board going over the lineup for today when I hear a commotion behind me. “We’ve got a trauma coming in,” Hollander, who works in trauma, says. “Multiple lacerations to the face. He was conscious in the field, we’re gonna meet them at the doors.” I join the whirlwind of activity and tie a yellow gown on over my scrubs, and am met with a gust of air when the sliding doors open.

When I look up, I’m staring into the face of the man who I hoped I'd never have to see again. Instead of focusing on the man being rolled into the ER on a stretcher, I’m dumbstruck by Matthew, who’s mirroring my expression back at me. There’s a moment of strained silence that he should’ve filled, but that his partner fills instead after picking up his slack. She tells us the rundown of everything that happened; what he’s allergic to and his stats, and then we get him onto a gurney. He’s conscious and making conversation, even cracking jokes from what I can hear of the tone of his voice, but I can’t make out specifics. I’m too busy avoiding Matthew’s deadly gaze on me, even though he should be gone by now.

No one knows about April and me. No one. So I don’t know why he’s staring daggers into me.

I pull up a stool next to the patient and assess his wounds, then clean him up and get him prepped for minor stitching later. It’s nothing too serious; the face bleeds a lot, so everything will look worse than it is. Once I’m done, I roll my stool away and am heading back to the main area when I see Matthew still standing by the doorway, watching me.

“Hey,” I say, plucking up the courage to speak. He nods in my direction, but doesn’t respond with words. “Your guy’s okay,” I say. “Just a lot of bleeders. All it’ll take is some stitches, and he’ll be good to go in no time.”

He nods again. “Nice,” he says.

I frown at him in a confused manner. “Is there something else I can help you with?” I ask.

He shrugs, his face still devoid of emotion. “No,” he says. “Don’t think so.”

“Okay,” I say, picking up a pen and a clipboard. “Well, it was good to see you.” I debate saying something like, _sorry to hear what happened with you and April_ , but I don’t. Because I’m worried that _don’t worry, I’m giving her the best sex of her life_ might slip out right after it.

“As always,” he replies, and I turn and walk down the long hallway to get as far away from him as I can. I’m not running away from him, per se, but he’s not the most comfortable person to be standing next to at the present time.

I find myself looking for April, scanning the OR board to see if she’s in surgery. After finding out that she’s not, I peek into a few patient rooms until I find her finishing up with an elderly woman who’s been calling her pet names for the past two days as she recovers from her major hip replacement. I'm relieved she's with a patient, because if she wasn't, she'd have been in the trauma bay, too. And I don't think the Matthew situation would've been even harder to stomach with her in the same room. 

As April leaves the room, I gently take her elbow and direct her to a supply closet, and she looks at me with glinting eyes.

“Jackson, I- I don’t know if I have time, but if you really want to…”

She starts to strip her lab coat off of her shoulders, but I shake my head tersely. Her movements stop, and she shrugs back into her coat. “Wait, what’s going on?” she asks, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Matthew’s here,” I say, my jaw tight.

“Of course he is, he works here,” she says, waving me off.

“No,” I say. “I mean, like, _here_. In the building. We just talked.”

Her forehead crinkles with confusion. “You… you two just talked.”

“Yes,” I say, eyes widening.

“About what?”

“Oh, you know… the weather, golf, the Bulls game… no! He brought a patient in, and he just kept lurking there. He wouldn’t leave. And he was staring at me like he was stalking me or something, it was really creepy. April…” I lean against the wall and look at her pensively. “I think he knows.”

She’s quick to respond. “He does not know,” she says.

“How can you be so sure?” I ask.

“I just am,” she says. “If he suspected anything, he’d....” She shakes her head and there’s something in her eyes that I can’t read. She rests one arm across her belly and pops her weight to one hip, all while biting the inside of her cheek. “He’d have said something to me by now. And he hasn’t. The only communication I’ve had from him in the past month is getting the divorce papers filed to my lawyer, which I’ve signed. It was final as of last week, I told you that. That’s all I’ve heard of him.”

“So you’re saying that even if he did know…” I begin.

“Which he doesn’t,” she adds.

“But I’m saying, even if he did… it wouldn’t be the end of the world, right? Because you’re technically not still married?”

“Well, right, I guess,” she says, and I feel an instant relief. But she doesn’t seem to share it.

“What?” I ask.

She tightens her lips. “It’s just… I still don’t want him to know.”

“Well, I mean, it’s not like I was going to launch an advertising campaign or anything like that,” I say.

“No, I know,” she says. “But I mean, you understand, right? That it doesn’t make me look like a very good person? To jump from a marriage right into a new relationship… people won’t understand.”

I frame her face with one hand. “I know,” I say. “And people don’t matter. The only two that need to understand what we have going are me and you.”

A little smile tugs one corner of her lips up. “Me and you,” she repeats.

***

It’s past dinner by the time I finally get through all my patients and am free enough to go home. I’m in the attendings’ lounge gathering my things when I hear the door open and someone else walk in behind me. They have quiet footsteps so I can barely hear them, but I know exactly who it is when I feel a pair of willowy arms wrap around my waist as I’m on tiptoes to grab something from the top shelf of my locker.

“I still have a couple post-ops to finish up,” she says, pushing her hands under my scrub top to touch my bare skin. “But after that, I’m all set to go. Can I come over tonight?”

I spin around and keep an eye on the door as I frame her face and push her hair out of her eyes. “Of course,” I say. “I’m not sure what I’d do if you didn’t come over.”

“Die of loneliness,” she says, one hand on my chest. “I know you’re on call, but it seems like a slow night. And I want to be with you.”

I kiss her and ask, “Are you tired?”

She shakes her head and smirks. “Not at all,” she says.

I chuckle and reach down to cup a hand over her ass. “Good,” I say. “Me, neither. And I have something at home that I want to show you.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Have you been holding out on me?” she asks. I shrug, pretending to have no idea what she’s talking about. “Okay,” she says, nodding. “I wonder what it is.”

“Are you gonna be hungry?” I ask. “I can order something in.”

“Okay, do that,” she says. “But we eat after. I want you first.”

I feel myself twitch in my pants in response to her words, but I will it away. I don’t want to be frustrated for however long her post-ops take. “Deal,” I say, and take her chin in one hand and kiss her again. “See you at home.”

My offhanded choice of words resonates with me. _See you at home_ . It sounds casual, familiar, and… married. Our home. See you at _our_ home.

I like it. I’m glad that I said it.

“I won’t be long,” she says, not batting an eye at what I’ve said.

As my arms are still wrapped around her, the door to the lounge opens again. We jolt away from each other as quickly as possible, and then see that it’s Halle who’s coming in after just finishing her shift.

“Hey guys,” she says, eyebrows lowering as she looks our way. “What’s going on?”

“What’s going on?” I repeat, then shrug. “Nothing. I just got off. I was just getting changed and getting ready to go home.”

“Oh, okay,” Halle says. “Hey, since you’re leaving, do you wanna go grab a drink?”

I keep my eyes focused on the wooden paneling of my locker. If I look out, I’m sure my eyes will be much too easy to read because of they way they’ll gravitate to April to see what kind of face she’s making. “I - um, actually I can’t tonight,” I say.

“Oh, why’s that? Suddenly you’re Mr. Antisocial now?” she asks.

I chuckle, then turn it into a clearing of my throat. “Um, no, I actually already have plans tonight.”

“Seriously?” she asks. “Another random chick you picked up from the bar?”

I can feel April bristling on my opposite side, and I have no idea what to say. “No,” I say. “You don’t know her. And since when were you entitled to what I do in my free time?”

“Just asking, geez,” Halle says.

“So yeah,” I say. “I just came in here to get my stuff and get out of here. It’s been a long day.”

April has stayed quiet, holding her clipboard close to her chest that she picked up from the bench behind us. “And you had to escort him?” Halle asks her, a laugh in her voice.

“I - what?” April stammers, and her blush is so evident that I want to crawl inside my locker and never come out. She couldn’t be more obvious if she tried. “No,” she laughs. “I just - I forgot my… I forgot my Chapstick.”

“Can’t have dry lips when you talk to patients,” Halle says. “Or when you kiss them.”

April drops the Chapstick she had dug out of her lab coat pocket and fumbles to pick it up. She laughs - it’s high-pitched, forced and fake - and starts to walk out of the room. “Kiss patients? I don’t kiss patients,” she says, still laughing.

“Well, that’s good at least,” Halle says. “Wouldn’t want your lips to get too busy.”

“You are crazy, Bryant,” April says. “I have post-ops. I gotta go.” She raises her eyes to me behind Halle’s head and widens them substantially. I want to mimic the expression back at her, but Halle is staring at me and trying to get answers from my face, so I won’t let that happen. “Bye, Jackson,” April says.

“See you,” I say, raising my hand in a wave as she shuts the door behind her.

“She was all hot and bothered,” Halle says after the door shuts. She walks to her locker and starts gathering her things only a few feet away from me.

“What?” I ask, then pull my coat on. “Seemed normal to me.”

“Then you’re blind,” she says. “So who’s the girl you’re seeing? You can tell me now.”

“Halle, I wasn’t gonna tell you before. What makes you think I’d tell you now?” I ask.

She waves her hand back towards the door. “Kepner’s gone. You and I both know she has the major hots for you. It’s totally obvious. You just didn’t want to hurt her feelings, I get it. That’s nice of you.”

I scoff. “No, that’s not it.”

“What’s not it?”

“She doesn’t…” I clear my throat and so badly want to shove it in her face what the two of us have. But I know I can’t do that. “She doesn’t have feelings for me, that’s stupid.”

Halley guffaws. “Have you seen the way she looks at you?” She shakes her head. “And you two are always together. I assume that’s her doing.”

“It’s not always,” I say.

“What, you _like_ that squeaky, neurotic voice following you around day after day?” she asks. “She’s so weird.”

“Hey,” I say sternly. “You can’t talk about her like that. She’s my friend. I’ve known her for a long time. No more calling her weird.”

“She is weird.”

“Maybe you think that, but don’t say it around me,” I tell her.

She raises her eyebrows and stays quiet as she studies me. I keep my eyes downcast as I shove the last few things into my shoulder bag. “Is there something between the two of you?” she asks suggestively.

“Don’t be stupid,” I say, walking towards the door.

“I know she’s divorced,” Halle says. “Did you jump on that?”

“Would you stop?” I ask, pausing at the door. “It’s really none of your fucking business.”

“Defensive much?” she asks, chuckling. “Jesus, you’re so touchy. You’ve never been this touchy before.” She crosses her arms. “It’s about her, isn’t it?”

“I’m leaving now,” I say.

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s sweet,” she calls after me. “You two are good together.”

***

I get home and order our food, then set it all out on the table just in time for the buzzer to ring, which means that April’s downstairs. I buzz her up, and she walks through the door in a flurry of kisses, bags and flyaway hair. I don't even try to hide the fact that I keep her in my arms for much longer than necessary.

“Hey,” she says, the tip of her nose still touching mine. She wraps her arms around my neck so the insides of her elbows are draped over my shoulders, and I keep a tight hold on her with either of my hands gripping her waist.

“Hey,” I say, and kiss her again. “I know you said you didn’t wanna eat first, but… it’s gonna get cold,” I say, gesturing towards the food.

She glances over at the table and her hazel eyes light up. “Oh, god, that looks amazing,” she says. “And also, if there’s a chance of you getting called back in later, you gotta eat.” She tosses her bag down and then kicks her shoes off. “So, you’re right. Plus I’m starving.”

“Same here.”

We sit down at the table and discuss the various cases that we had throughout the day. She had a kidney transplant that went well with no hiccups, and I had a bone graft that I worked tirelessly on all day with hardly any breaks. Even though I would normally go right home after a long day like the one I had and go to sleep, right now that’s the last thing I want to do. I want to spend as much time with her as a I can - even if there’s danger of me getting called back to the hospital at any given moment.

As we’re cleaning up the table, she saunters over to the counter and leans on it after putting her dirty dishes in the dishwasher. “So what surprise were you talking about earlier?” she asks.

I raise my eyebrows as I run a fork under the water faucet. “Hmm?” I ask, playing dumb.

She swipes a hand at me playfully. “Don’t do that,” she says. “I know you know what I’m talking about.”

“No idea…” I say, and bust up giggling. “You only wish you knew.”

“Yeah, I do!” she squeaks, hurrying over to me to latch her arms around my middle. She tries tickling me there, but it doesn’t get any reaction out of me. “Don’t make me do it, Avery,” she says, and crawls her fingers up my torso. I play it cool, pretend like it isn’t getting to me, but we both know that it is. She digs her bony fingers under my armpits and I squirm away from her; that’s my most ticklish spot and she’s the only one who knows it. “Tell me, or you’re in for it,” she says, wiggling her fingers.

“No way,” I say, tossing the fork into the sink. “Not yet. I’m gonna surprise you.”

I haven’t had this surprise for very long; I ordered it online about a week ago and it just came in the other day. I'm not sure how she'll react to it, but it's something we've never tried and I've been wanting to know how open she is to being… adventurous.

“Well, I'm full and happy,” she says, walking backwards away from me and patting her belly. “What kind of surprise is it?”

“One that needs you to stop asking so many questions,” I say, laughing.

She rolls her eyes. “Where should I sit? Eyes open? Closed?”

I should've remembered that she loves surprises more than anyone else I know. Now, I'm nervous that this isn't something she'll enjoy and my buildup will have all been for nothing. Worst case scenario: she's totally disgusted and our night is ruined by awkwardness.

I'm willing to risk that for the best case scenario, though.

“Bedroom,” I say. “Everything off.”

She raises her eyebrows and her intrusive blush makes itself known, giving away how she feels. “Wow,” she says, then spins on her heels and strips off her shirt before even getting through the door. “See you in there.”

I give her a few minutes to get settled before I follow in her footsteps. I take what I have out of the cupboard in the bathroom and switch it on low to make sure the batteries work - and they do. I've already washed it and made sure it's ready to use; I didn't want to be caught unprepared whenever we got our chance to use this.

“Eyes closed,” I remind her, standing in the doorway.

“They're closed,” she says in a singsong voice, and I walk in to see her lying on her back with her knees pressed together, completely naked. By just the one look at her, waiting there vulnerable for me, I've already started to get hard in my pants. “What exactly are you planning on doing to me?” she asks, moving her hands to rest over her eyes as she knocks her knees together. “I'm a little worried.”

“Don't be worried,” I say, pulling my shirt off over my head and resting my hospital pager on the nightstand next to the bed. “Just trust me.”

“You're being so secretive,” she says.

“I'm doing it on purpose,” I say, kicking my jeans away.

“I know,” she giggles. “I kind of like it.”

“Good,” I say, and crawl onto the bed with her. My underwear are still on, but that's the only thing left. I push her knees down so her legs lay flat and straight, and then cover her small body with my own.

“Ooh,” she says, surprised. “Hi.”

“Keep your eyes shut,” I say gently, and press my lips to her soft belly.

“I am, I am,” she assures me, and moves her hands down from her face to trace nonsense shapes over my shoulders. “I just wanna touch you. Is that okay?”

“I encourage it,” I say, chuckling.

“Good,” she says quietly, and I dig my teeth gently into the skin of her hips. She writhes underneath me and makes a little sound in her throat, and I smile to myself. Little does she know, I've hardly begun.

I push myself up higher and cover one of her nipples with my mouth, swirling my tongue around the hardened bud. She lets out a contented sigh, and I suck hard before releasing her breast with an audible pop and moving back lower.

I switch the vibrator on, and her face shows a shift to confusion. “What's that sound?” she asks.

“I'll show you,” I say, and press it deliberately against her core. I watch her face and see her eyebrows shoot to the ceiling, then she takes a generous portion of her lower lip between her teeth.

“Oh, my god,” she moans, and her legs fall open wider. “Jackson…”

“Shh,” I say, and rub the inside of her thigh as I gently push the vibrator inside her after lubing it up. Her hips lift to meet my motion, and seeing her like this is driving me absolutely crazy. She's so different in the bedroom than she is outside of it; no one would ever guess that April is such a sexual person. They would be so surprised.

With the little machine still buzzing as I thrust it in and out of her, I press open-mouthed kisses to her core. It gets the reaction from her that I was hoping for - her jaw hinges open and a desperate, staccato scream escapes her. I feel her fingers vice-grip the skin on the slope where my neck turns into my shoulder, and her breath comes out in heavy, uneven bursts so I continue to do what I'm doing.

Just as she's about to come, my pager starts beeping and interrupts us. Her eyes fly open and my attention turns to it on the nightstand, then she grapples intensely for my head so she can turn my face to look at her. “I want you,” she practically begs. “You, inside me. Before you have to go. Will you just-”

I don't make her finish her thought, I know exactly what she's getting at because I feel the same way. I tear off my underwear and enter her in one swift motion, and since she's already so close to climax, it doesn't take long to get her there. I kiss her and delve my tongue into her mouth, feeling her moan into mine as her body quakes underneath me. It doesn't take me long after her to reach my orgasm, and she's still panting when I come inside her with her arms wrapped around my lower back.

Once we’re both finished, I swing one leg over her so I can set my feet on the floor. She moves to get up, too, but I'm not sure why.

“Where are you going?” I ask, pulling out a fresh pair of boxer-briefs.

“Oh,” she says, seemingly caught off-guard as she sits on the edge of the bed dressed in nothing, chest and face still flushed pink. “You have to go, so I just thought…”

I shake my head and smile. “No, no,” I say. “You stay. I won't be long.”

The look on her face kills me as it changes from concern to warm realization. “Oh, okay,” she says.

I walk over and kiss her forehead as I pull my jeans back up. “Get some sleep. I'll be back in a few hours.”

I head to the hospital and tend to what I was called in for, which is an emergency surgery involving a man in his mid-20s and an infection that had spread into his chest cavity. It was a close shave, but we eventually got him stable enough to make it through to see a second surgery that will eventually have to be done.

It takes hours. I'm not back in the car headed home until almost 4am, and when I get up to my apartment, everything is quiet and still. It's so quiet and dark that I wonder if she went through with her original idea and left, and I think about that the whole time I'm taking off my dirty clothes from the hospital and throwing them into the laundry room.

I don't have to worry for long, though. When I go back into my room to get ready to lay down, I see April curled up in a ball on the bed, dressed in only one of my t-shirts and a pair of teal underwear, looking sweet and deeply asleep. Once I jump in the shower and am out and in pajamas, nothing sounds better than getting into bed with her.

I pull back the covers on what's become my side, and that small movement makes her stir. She takes in a deep breath and opens her eyes a little bit, and when she sees that I’m home, she reaches her arms out for me.

“Hi, baby,” she mutters, her voice soft and sleepy.

I feel like I might explode.

I get under the covers and let myself become wrapped up in her, just in the way she wants me. She holds my head on her chest while hugging my shoulders; and with one arm thrown over her hips, we fall back to sleep together.

In the morning when her alarm goes off, we both jump at the jarring noise. Neither of us had moved at all in the few hours we got to sleep together; it's now 6am and the sun is coming up through my half-closed blinds, and I can hear her heart beating right under my ear.

She groans and squeezes my shoulders as tight as she can while slinging one of her warm, smooth legs over both of mine. “I don't wanna get up,” she says, fake-pouting and smushing her cheek against the top of my head. “But I have to. I gotta shower. I'm gross.”

I press my face into her chest, where her skin is radiating heat. “You're not gross,” I say.

“I stink.”

“Yeah, you are a little smelly,” I murmur, grinning against her.

“Shut it,” she says, lightly smacking me.

April drags her fingers down my head and trails them down the shells of my ears, so I copy her motion and do the same to her. I run one of her earlobes between my thumb and first finger and say, “Your earlobes are so soft.”

Somehow I can hear her roll her eyes at me. “Let me up,” she says. “You're heavy.”

I roll away from her and she slowly slips out of bed, standing right by the side of it to stretch her arms high over her head and make a high-pitched squealing sound to go with it. I watch her head to the shower and then hear it turn on, and then after a few minutes I can't resist. I have to get up, too.

Even though I've only had a couple hours of sleep, while she's here I want to be around her. I strip and throw my clothes onto the counter by the sinks, and then slide open the glass panel so I can jump in the shower with her.

“Oh,” she says, jumping a little bit as I've surprised her. “Jackson. I didn't know you were gonna…”

“I thought we should save some water,” I say, and step under the water jet alongside her.

I help her scrub in places she can't reach, spending ample time on her back and angles of her shoulders, then kissing her skin after the suds rinse away. I wrap my arms around her and press my lips to her clean, damp hair, and she melts against me.

“I have to go…” she trails off, leaning her neck to the opposite side so I have access to more of her. “I'm gonna be late.”

“So be late,” I mutter, skimming my hands up her slick waist to cup her breasts in my hands.

“I…” She cuts herself off and suddenly her body language changes and becomes tense. “I'm gonna be sick,” she says quickly, and pushes my arms away so she can turn around and throw up down the shower drain.

“Jesus, are you okay?” I ask, kneeling down to rest a hand on her back. “Are you sick?” I hold her wet hair back and she lifts her head, then rests against the tiled wall with her knees to her chest. “You shouldn't go into the hospital if you have a stomach bug.”

“I'm fine,” she says, letting out a long breath. She closes her eyes and inhales and exhales deeply from her mouth. “I'm fine. I promise.”

“You're obviously not fine,” I say. “You just threw up. You should rest.”

She stands up and pushes her wet hair out of her face, then spritzes it with the warm shower water. “I'm gonna go in,” she says, sounding refreshed. “If I feel sick, I'll go home. But I just need to go in. I have a tumor resection today.” She smoothes her hands down my shoulders. “I'm okay. I promise. It's nothing.”

** APRIL **

It’s been a month since Jackson and I have been a thing, and somehow it feels like it’s been both longer and much shorter at the same time. I see him everyday and almost every night. Since Matthew moved out, I could count on one hand the amount of times I’ve slept in my own bed at our walk-up.

I hate going back there and seeing how empty it is. He took everything that he deemed was his, and a half-full house isn’t one that looks lived in. It’s cavernous, cold and uncomfortable, so I’m there as little as possible. Having someone alongside me would probably make me feel better, but there are only two options in that department. And Matthew isn’t coming back and I don’t have any desire to invite Jackson over to the house that my ex-husband and I once shared.

He’s never hinted that he wants to see it, either. Without even discussing it, his apartment has always been where we’ve gone. Even before I was engaged to Matthew and before he was seeing Steph - back at Grey Sloan when we were sneaking around with each other - when we made it out of the supply closets and on-call rooms at the hospital, we always went to his house. That was rare, though. We were younger then, and different people.

Now, instead of just sex, we’re interested in spending at-home time with each other, too.

Plus sex. The sex is a definite bonus.

We have sex a lot. When we both have a free minute during the day, we find the time to sneak away somewhere. There are lot more empty rooms at Northwestern Memorial than at Grey Sloan, so finding a door that locks isn’t hard. And then, if neither of us are working overnights and are home at the same time, we go again at night. Sometimes we get up to three times a day, and I beg my conscience to kick in and tell me that I have to stop doing this. I’m being hedonistic. I ruined my marriage for him.

But my conscience stays silent, and I can’t stop.

I love Jackson. I haven’t told him, but I love him so much that sometimes I can’t see straight. When I look at him, I stop thinking.

He made me a key to his apartment, and my favorite thing is getting there before him and being in the middle of cooking dinner when he walks through the door. He’s usually a little grumpy and tired, but his face lights up in a way that’s designated only for me when he sees me standing at the stove behind the counter. I love it when he sets his stuff down, saunters over to me, and wraps his arms around my waist so he can kiss my neck as I stir whatever’s on for that night.

I never knew that I could have such a powerful love for something so domestic.

When he tries to cook, which has only been a handful of times, it’s a disaster. He’s messed up something as easy as pasta after forgetting to stir it, and then it got soldered to the bottom of the pot where it stuck like glue and got blackened and burnt.

We ordered pizza that night.

Not many people know this, but he’s funny, too. He’ll do almost anything to make me laugh. On the night in the middle of the week that we ordered pizza and drank pop like college students, he stuck the tiny table that comes in the middle of it on the top of his head and claimed he was serving dinner for ants. I laughed until I couldn’t breathe as he played along with his own charade, and told him how unbearably stupid he was.

And later, after we were finished eating, we couldn’t even find time to clear away the plates and pizza box before having sex on the couch we had just finished eating on.

With Matthew in bed, I always had to help him along and tell him what I liked and didn’t like. I don’t blame him for that since he was a virgin when we got married, but it wasn’t the most enjoyable thing to be the experienced one between the two of us. With Jackson, that’s definitely not the case. He knows exactly what he’s doing, and the best part is that he brings out my confidence in the bedroom, too.

We have a special bond that I could’ve never recreated with Matthew. Nothing can ever change the fact that Jackson will always be my first, and there’s some sort of bond there that I can’t really explain. He knew me then and he still knows me now, better than ever before. He knows just what my body needs and how to make it do what we both want without me having to tell him. Sometimes, I think he almost knows better than I do.

He knows my body so well that it isn’t easy to hide anything from him. So when I throw up in the shower, even while I’m doubled over and retching, I know he’s going to be worried about me.

“Jesus, are you okay?” he asks, touching my back. I can hear the worried tone in his voice, and I hate that this happened in front of him. “Are you sick?” I continue to cough up chunks and he gathers my wet hair so he can hold it back from my face. I appreciate the gesture, but what I need is to be left alone. I wish that he had never seen this. I wasn’t ready for him to see this. It raises a lot more questions than I’m able to answer - without lying.

I think I’m finished. I lift my head from the drain and rest against the wall, my knees drawn to my chest. He’s looking at me with pensive, concerned blue eyes. “You shouldn’t go into the hospital if you have a stomach bug,” he says.

While breathing in and out deeply, I say, “I’m fine. I’m fine. I promise.”

Even with my eyes closed, I can still feel him staring. “You’re obviously not fine,” he says. “You just threw up. You should rest.”

I stand up, and he straightens himself out, too. I splash some water on my face and shake my head a bit to clear it. Now that it’s over, I feel back to normal again. “I’m gonna go in,” I say. “If I feel sick, I’ll go home. But I just need to go in. I have a tumor resection today.” I turn around to face him and run my hands over his muscular arms. “I’m okay. I promise. It’s nothing.”

He concedes, although I can tell he doesn’t want to. But he doesn’t argue with me, he just gives me a tight hug and then kisses me on the cheek - assumably to avoid my mouth.

“What, you don’t want a kiss on the lips?” I ask, prodding him.

He scrunches up his face. “Sorry, barfy.”

I feign offense, and then laugh. “I see how it is,” I say.

We spend a minute with his arms around my waist and mine around his, our torsos pressed together, just looking at each other. He smoothes his hands over my wet hair and asks, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yes, Jackson,” I say, and press my lips to the front of his shoulder. “I’m okay.”

It’s not a lie. I’m perfectly fine; actually, my body is in great shape.

I didn’t throw up because I have a stomach bug. I’m the picture of health.

I have morning sickness. I threw up because I’m pregnant.


	7. Chapter 7

**APRIL**

I need to pray. 

Not like I don’t pray every day, because I do. But I need to go pray  _ now _ . Because not only am I having unmarried sex with Jackson - and a lot of it, at that - as the cherry on top of this whole thing, I'm pregnant. 

And I don’t know who the father is. 

I am a clock. I am never late. And I noticed the very first day I was late, but tried not to get too nervous. By the fourth day I was definitely freaking out, and the blood test I gave myself at the hospital only made everything more real for me. I’m pregnant, there’s no doubt about that. 

But it was just a simple blood test, so I’m not sure yet how far along I am. But it can’t be any more than five weeks, and even knowing the exact amount of time wouldn’t help unless the OB could tell me down to the exact day. 

The last time I had sex with Matthew was only two days before I slept with Jackson the first time. 

My cheeks flush crimson and get unbearably hot as I think about what I’ve done. I can’t believe how badly I’ve sinned and what I could possibly do at this point to repent. I really don’t know myself anymore. The April Kepner who grew up in Moline on the farm going to church every weeknight to listen to her dad preach would never in a billion years think that her 33-year-old self would end up like this. 

After I scrub out of a bone marrow harvest procedure, I fast-walk down the hallway until I get to the chapel. As usual, it’s empty when I walk inside and I can sit in my favorite spot on the second pew without anyone bothering me with their presence. I press my hands together and then rest my forehead against them, closing my eyes as I try to center my thoughts and direct them to God. 

First off, I ask for forgiveness. I don’t know how He could possibly give it to me at this point, but I need to ask. I need to remind both myself and Him that I’m still the same person that I’ve always been. I still want to be that person; I still want to recognize her within myself at least. 

I ask Him to help me make sense of my whirlwind thoughts for Jackson and to give me guidance on what I should do in the situation I’ve created for myself. Because I really don’t know what the next steps to take are. 

I’m lost. This is the first time I’ve felt lost in a long time, and I know it's because I’ve strayed so far from God’s light. And I hate that. I’ve done this once already and I blamed Jackson for it. Now, I know that even though he plays a big part in the equation, I was the one who made the decisions for myself. No one forced me. 

He’s just so magnetic. As I pray, I find my thoughts drifting towards him and I force them away until I say ‘amen’ and bring my hands out of their prayer position. 

Being able to talk to God makes me feel a bit more at ease with my life, but the tight feeling in my gut still remains. I’m not sure if it’s nerves, or the fact that no food has sat right with me since this week started. Morning sickness doesn’t usually start this early in a pregnancy, but I know as much as any other doctor that every woman is different. And I apparently got stuck with the short end of the stick. 

My stomach churns and gurgles as I walk out of the chapel and past the cafeteria. They’re cooking eggs and when the smell wafts by me, I know that I’m about to heave. 

Luckily, I make it into the bathroom so no one has to witness me throw up in a trash can in the middle of the hallway, and I'm the only one in here. I take a minute just leaning up against the wall of the stall, taking deep breaths as I try and get over what just happened. 

“You’re not gonna make this easy for me, are you?” I whisper, ghosting my fingertips over my belly. It’s the first time I’ve talked to the baby, and it feels nice. Even though my belly shows no signs of there being anything in there, I know that there is. 

Somehow, talking to the baby makes me feel less scared. 

“Hi, in there,” I say, trying it out again. “I don’t know how much you can hear right now, but…” I smile to myself and rest my elbow on the toilet seat. “I’m your mama. And we’re kind of going through a hard time right now, but I love you very much.” I giggle softly. “You’re about the size of a poppy seed, but I already love you so much.” 

***

At the end of the day, I’m more exhausted than I’ve felt in a long time. I worked a normal shift today, not any crazy hours or anything, yet I have to sit down in the attendings’ lounge to take off my shoes and then end up just resting there while people filter in and out around me. 

“Hey, babe,” I hear, and Jackson presses his lips to the top of my head. “You okay? How are you feeling? I meant to catch up with you today, but I had like a million consults and then I was in the OR with Britton for the better half of the afternoon.” He turns around and shoves his lab coat haphazardly into his locker. “How’s your stomach?” 

I wrap one arm around it and try to lighten up my eyes. “Oh, it’s fine,” I say. It’s not exactly a lie; it does feel fine right now. And as long as no errant smells sneak into this room, it should stay that way. 

“Didn’t throw up again?” 

“Nope,” I say. “Told you I wouldn't.”

“Didn’t even feel like you had to?” he asks. I shake my head. “Well, that’s good.” 

I feel bad lying right to his face, but the alternative is no better. I’m nowhere near ready for the alternative. “How was your surgery?” I ask, trying to change the subject. 

“Went great,” he said. “Clean cuts, great stitching, got everything out.” 

I’m not really sure what type of surgery he’s talking about, but I don’t bother with asking. I can barely keep my eyes open and I don’t want him to think his talking is putting me to sleep. 

“How was yours?” he asks. “Marrow, right?” 

I blink heavily. “Right,” I say. “Yeah, it was good.” 

“You sound freakin’ exhausted,” he says, sitting on the bench next to me and wrapping an arm around my shoulders. He kisses my temple just as the door to the lounge opens and Halle walks in. He unwinds his arm from me, but doesn’t bother with moving away. 

“Hey, you two,” she says, and the look in her eyes tells me that she knows more than she’s supposed to. She’s not stupid, and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together with what Jackson and I have going on. We can’t keep our hands away from each other. 

“Hey,” Jackson says. 

“So,” she says, digging in her locker and pulling out a black bag. “Luck would have it that the three of us get off work at the same time. What do you say we head over to O’Toole’s for a drink?” 

Jackson and I speak at the exact same time. 

“No, that's okay.” 

“Sure, that sounds fun.” 

Halle gives us a questioning look, and I feel Jackson looking at me in the same confused manner. I try and recover. “Um, I mean, but I could definitely go for some mozzarella sticks right now,” I say, laughing way too forcefully. “O’Toole’s sounds great. We should go. We should definitely go there right now.” 

Halle’s expression on her face gets even more confused and freaked out, but I can’t seem to stop making a fool of myself. It’s just in my nature, especially when put under this kind of pressure. 

“You sure…?” she asks. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to…really.”

“No, I want to,” I assure her, then look to Jackson. “I want to. Do you want to?” 

He nods and takes my hand casually, and I don’t notice that it’s out of place until I feel Halle’s eyes on our entwined fingers. “Are you sure there’s nothing going on between the two of you?” she asks, her tone of voice warming up. 

My mouth goes dry and I part my lips to speak, but Jackson gets there first. “Maybe a little something,” he says, keeping my hand and rubbing his thumb over my skin. 

I look at him with surprise, but he looks calm and collected. I’m a little annoyed that he would oust us without so much as consulting me, but that feeling is overwhelmed with the pride in being wanted. He’s proud that we’re together, that’s why he told her. I love that, but there’s still something niggling concern inside my brain because it feels like since he told one person, the whole hospital is going to know within a matter of days. 

And that’s definitely not as big of a problem for him as it is for me. If this gets out, Matthew will undoubtedly hear. And I don't think I'm ready for that. 

I let out a long, wavering sigh that sounds more dramatic than I meant it to. All of this secret-keeping, along with carrying another tiny life inside me, is draining. 

“Yes, we are,” I say, putting a smile on, too. I don’t freak out in the present moment because on the surface, if I don’t think too hard, I’m happy he told her, too. I want people to know that he’s mine and I’m his, I just wish that we could’ve gone about it in a different way. 

“See, I knew it,” Halle says, pointing her finger at us with a sly smile on her face. “I knew it! You guys have been sneaking around, and I totally called it.”

“Okay, enough, you didn’t call it,” Jackson says, letting go of my hand to help me gather things from my locker so we can leave. He packs what he knows I need in my bag and then zips it up much faster than I would’ve done, seeing as I still haven’t moved from the bench. 

“You can’t run away from history,” Halle says, standing.

“Did you get that off the back of a cereal box or something?” Jackson asks, ribbing her. I giggle under my breath, but Halle doesn’t find it amusing. 

“Oh, bite me,” she says, narrowing her eyes. 

Sensing a bit of tension, I stand up and take in a deep breath. “So, let’s all change and then meet over at O’Toole’s for drinks,” I say. “How about in a half hour?”

Halle agrees and then goes off to clean up and get into different clothes, and Jackson and I stay put. “Did you like that bit about the cereal box?” he asks, tucking a stray piece of my hair behind my ear. 

“Yeah, ha ha,” I say, rolling my eyes. “She wasn’t too crazy about it, though.”

“Oh, she’s sensitive,” he says. 

“So am I,” I say. 

“True,” he says. “But you know how I feel about you. Your sensitivity helps make you who you are. Hers is for dramatic effect.” 

I scoff. “Okay,” I say, then dig around for my street-clothes. We change at the same time, and while I’m lacing up my boots I finally decide that now’s the time to bring up my problem with the fact that he told Halle, even though it’s not the most opportune. I don’t want to leave it festering in my mind for any longer, because it could turn into something uglier if I let myself keep stewing on it. I don’t want to be mad at him because I haven’t felt anything but positive feelings towards him yet. I don’t want that to change, but today my emotions have been all over the board. There’s no telling what might come spilling out of me. 

“Um, so now she knows,” I say, double-knotting while staring down at my shoes. 

“What?” he asks, then it dawns on him. “Oh. Halle. Yeah… I know.” 

I look up from the floor and rest one leg on the bench, knee bent in front of me. “It kind of came out of nowhere,” I say. 

“I know,” he says again. “I didn’t mean for it to happen like that. But that isn’t the first time she asked, and I mean… she isn’t blind. It’s kind of obvious.” 

I sigh, because he’s not wrong and I know that. I still just wish it could’ve been different.

“I know she’s probably not the person who you wanted to be first to know,” he says, reading my mind. “I’m sorry about that.” 

I nod slowly. “It’s not that I’m not proud to be with you,” I say, reaching across to take his hands. “Because I am. I really am. More than anything. But I just…” I sigh. “I don’t want it spreading like crazy and then people think we’re doing this just to do this. Like we said before, people won’t get it. I don’t even know if Halle gets it.”

“She probably doesn’t,” he says. “You’re right. But it doesn’t matter what people get and don’t get. We know. And that’s what counts.” 

I know he’s right, but it’s hard to admit. I just wish everyone could see how we came to this point. It’s so much more complicated than it looks. 

“I just want them to know…” I say, and a smile sneaks onto my lips. “I want them to know how amazing this is.”

“How amazing we are, you mean?” he asks. 

“Well, mostly me,” I joke, and he laughs and rolls his eyes. “But yeah.” 

“But doesn’t that make it better?” he asks. “The fact that they don’t know? Halle can think she saw it coming all she wants, but she doesn’t really comprehend what’s all happened between us. There’s no way she could, or that anyone could. That’s saved only for the two of us.” 

“And if it does spread around?” I ask. “What happens then?” 

He takes a moment to think and rubs my knee comfortingly. “Then we figure it out. Not just you. Both of us. I know you feel like you have to carry the whole thing with Matthew, April, but you don’t. I know that I play just as big of a part in this as you do. If you ever feel like you need to explain things to Matthew, I’m there to help.” 

Half of the weight feels like it’s been lifted off my chest. I had almost expected us to fight, because disagreements are what I’m used to in a partnership, so I’m surprised at this outcome. He saw my side, understood it, then helped me see a way through it. 

That’s how a marriage should work. 

I stare at him for a long time and watch his eyes crinkle with a smile. “What?” he asks. 

The words are clogging my throat. I know that once I open my mouth, it’ll be impossible for anything else to escape but those three words. And I think I’m ready. 

I squeeze his hands and then draw myself closer so I can kiss him, and when I pull back it finally comes out. “I love you,” I say. 

He lifts his hands and holds my head in them only to kiss me again with much more force. “I love you,” he responds, and I wrap my arms around his shoulders to let myself melt against his body as he holds me tight. “Took you long enough,” he mutters. 

I pull away and laugh. “Are you kidding?” I sputter. “You could’ve said it first, you know.”

“And been rejected? Hell no.” 

I smack his shoulder. “As if I would’ve rejected you.” 

“I know, I’m pretty hot, right?” he says, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

I stand up and gather my things. “More like insufferable,” I say.

We walk out of the lounge side-by-side and out into the hallway, towards the exit doors. “But you love me,” he says. “You just said it yourself. There’s no taking it back now. Even if you want to.” 

I take his hand when we’re in the parking lot, which is a bold move. Because of it, my eyes dart everywhere to see if we’re going to be caught by anyone, but no one is around. “Good thing I don’t want to,” I say, hip-checking him as we make it to the car. 

“Good thing,” he repeats, and then kisses me as we’re both on the passenger’s side. 

“Who’s driving?” I ask, my lips moving against his and my hands tracing the collar of his jacket. 

“Preferably neither of us, and we’ll both be naked in the back seat,” he says. 

I smile against his mouth and then press my lips in a path of kisses over his jawline. “We’re gonna be late, Jackson,” I say. 

“Ugh, can’t she wait?” he whines, grabbing low on my hips. “This beautiful woman I know just told me she loves me and I really want to be able to show her how much I love her back.” 

“Jackson…” I say, tipping my neck to one side and staring up at the sky as he kisses my warm skin. “We promised her. She’s probably already waiting…” 

“Let her wait,” he says, grazing his hands up my body without missing my breasts on the way up. “I want you.” 

“I know, I want you, too,” I murmur, feeling heat start to gather between my legs. If we keep going, I won’t be able to be the voice of reason between us anymore. He’ll have pushed me over the edge. “But later, we have all the time in the world.”

“Promise?” he asks, kissing my ear and making me laugh. 

“Yes,” I say, reluctantly pushing him away by his chest. “Now get in the car and drive, mister.” 

***

When we walk inside O’Toole’s and see Halle already sitting at the bar, the myriad of smells overtakes me and my eyes widen with the onset of queasiness. I won’t let myself throw up, though. It’ll raise too many questions, and Jackson will make us go home and he’ll want to take care of me and I’ll be digging myself further and further into a lie that I won’t be able to hold up for much longer without hurting him irreparably. 

I get a sour taste in my mouth when I let myself think about it again as we sit down. This is not how I imagined starting my family would look like; being unsure between the only two men I’ve ever had sex with who the father is. I’m ashamed of myself, to say the least. I’m the common denominator here. How this all went down is my fault, and they’re just players in the equation. 

Jackson orders a beer and Halle has something clear in a glass that I’m assuming is some variation of vodka. When the bartender asks me what I want, I just order mozzarella sticks and a Sprite as casually as I can, but it still gets me a weird look from Halle. 

“Not drinking?” she asks. “You pregnant or something, April?” 

My gut clenches. “No, I - I - it just really doesn’t sound good to me right now,” I say, clearing my throat. “I had an upset stomach this morning and I don’t think alcohol would sit right with me.” 

I feel Jackson’s hand on my lower back. “The Sprite was a good idea,” he says, and I smile softly over at him. 

“But I’m totally still gonna eat the cheese sticks,” I say, and the two of them laugh. Relief washes over me as the questioning mood has shifted, and they talk about something else until my food comes. When the bartender sets down my basket of cheese sticks, Jackson steals one and I pretend to be mad at him, but he knows I don’t really care. Sharing my food has never bothered me. But just to get his goat, I steal the last bite of it from between his fingers and pop it into my mouth, which gets me an open-mouthed look of surprise from him that makes me laugh. 

“You guys seem like you’ve known each other forever,” Halle says, leaning one elbow on the counter. 

Our attention shifts over to her and then we look between each other to see who’s going to answer. “Well, we pretty much have,” Jackson says. “We started out as interns together back at Mercy West in Seattle.” 

Halle’s eyebrows crinkle. “I thought you came from Grey Sloan or whatever.” 

“Well, yeah,” I cut in. “But even before that. We were both interns at Mercy West with these horrible orange scrubs.” 

“And was it love at first sight?” Halle asks, making her voice fake-sappy.

Jackson and I both scoff. “No way,” I say. 

“I thought she was an overeager goody-two-shoes who had an obsession with that damn red notebook,” he says, grinning at me.

“And I thought he was a privileged little rich boy who only got into the program because of his family name,” I say. “Obviously, we were both wrong, but-” 

“Well, I was,” he cuts in.

“Shut up,” I say, smacking him. “Then Mercy West went under and we merged with Seattle Grace, which is the one that turned into Grey Sloan after an ownership change. We were residents there, and then attendings. That’s where everything that happened...happened, pretty much.” 

Halle’s interest is piqued now. I wonder if I shouldn’t have said that last thing. “What all happened?” she asks. 

Jackson and I exchange a look. I’m starting to like Halle, but there’s something about her that makes me mistrust her and I can’t put my finger on what it is. I don’t think it’s the fact that she’s slept with Jackson, because I’m not that petty. It might be the way her eyes are glinting with the prospect of hearing our story, but I’d like to think that that’s innocent enough. I just don’t know what all we should be telling her and what we should be keeping for ourselves. 

“That… that’s a long story,” Jackson says, and from that I made the right decision in keeping my mouth shut. “You don’t wanna hear it.” 

“I do, though,” she says, sipping her drink. “I really do.” 

“You don’t,” I say, waving my hand. “It’s not that exciting.” 

There’s a beat of silence between the three of us before she says, “It’s okay, guys. If you wanna keep it quiet for a while, that’s fine. I totally get it.” She smiles. “You can trust me.” 

That comforts me slightly. “I just… yeah,” I say. “Because my ex-husband doesn’t know, and people… he won’t…”

“I get it,” she says, patting the counter with her flat palm. “I’m not gonna go blabbing. I’m just happy you guys got to tell someone.” 

“Better you than Collins,” Jackson mutters, and I smirk at him. 

“If you told Collins, the entire city of Chicago would know by now,” Halle says. “And it hasn’t even been an hour. Jesus, that man can talk.”

We all laugh about that, and then the subject changes to easier and safer things. Mine and Jackson’s relationship doesn’t come up again. 

***

When we get home, I’m dead tired but Jackson is still full of energy. I’m in his bedroom finding a pair of pajamas to put on, rifling through a drawer that’s somehow become mine, and he’s eating a bowl of cereal while leaning in the doorway and watching me. 

“People totally don’t give Cap’n Crunch enough credit,” he says, spoon to his lips. “Especially the kind with the berries. Oh my god, it’s out of this world.”

“You’re ridiculous,” I say. “I could make you something, you know.” 

“I’m currently eating the most gourmet cuisine we have in this house. I couldn’t ask for anything more,” he says, kissing the spoon. “Plus, you look fricken tired out.” 

I walk over to him and look up at him as he’s chewing. “Gimme a bite,” I say, and open my mouth like a bird. He puts a spoonful in, and I nod approvingly as I chew. “Okay, these are pretty amazing,” I admit. 

“See? What’d I tell you?” 

Now that I got the first taste for them, I have the strongest craving for a huge bowl of stupid Cap’n Crunch Berries than I’ve ever had for anything in my life. “Are there more of those?” I ask, opening my mouth for another bite. 

“Yeah, go get your own, munchy,” he says, tapping me on the butt as I head out towards the kitchen. He follows me and sits at the counter while I pour myself cereal in the biggest bowl I could find. “Jesus, why don’t you just pour the milk into the box and go from there?” he asks. 

“Don’t give me any ideas,” I say, and stand while I eat. This tastes so good for some reason, and usually I’m not big on the sugary cereals. They’re Jackson’s guilty pleasure, not mine. 

It dawns on me halfway through the bowl that this must be a pregnancy craving. Because of that realization, I want to stop eating, put the bowl away and try and convince myself that I don’t want this that badly. But that’s not an option. It’s not so much that I  _ want _ this cereal anymore, I  _ need _ it. Nothing has tasted this good to me in so long. 

“I’m totally going to throw out your Kashi shit and we’re going to binge on this every night,” Jackson says, laughing.

I pretend-scowl up at him. “You have a milk mustache,” I say. 

“Takes one to know one,” he counters back, and reaches across to wipe mine off. “Also, take some time to chew. You’re inhaling. You’re gonna choke, and I don’t really feel like doing the Heimlich right now.” 

“Wow, you tell me you love me but you won’t even give me the Heimlich,” I say, shaking my head in disappointment. “That’s okay. At least I’ll go out with enthusiasm.” 

“A true hero,” Jackson says, and tips his bowl up so he can drink the milk. I do the same thing, finishing at the same time as him though I started much later. I couldn’t eat it fast enough, and now I even want more.

I try and control myself, though. 

“Seems like the Cap’n brought back some of your energy,” he says. “Remember earlier, when you said we’d have all the time in the world…?” 

“I think so,” I say, twirling my spoon. 

“I’m sensing that that time is now,” he says, and scoops me up from where I’m standing. I let him, and the smile stays on my face even as he plops me down on his bed. He pulls my pajama pants off of me and doesn’t waste any time with slipping his fingers inside the front of my underwear, teasing me while kissing me softly on the mouth. 

He pushes two of them inside me and my hips rise to meet his slowly moving hand, and with his mouth open on my neck, I feel like I’m already close to coming. He hastily pulls the neckline of my cami down to attach his mouth to my breast, and the feeling of that mixed with what his fingers are doing is driving me crazy. 

“Oh, my god,” I breathe, one arm wrapped around him and the other grappling for the comforter so I can have something to hold onto. “Fu… oh my god…” 

“Were you just about to say what I think you were about to say?” he asks, kissing his way down my stomach. 

“No,” I pant, feeling a smile sneak onto my face as my eyebrows shoot upwards. 

“I think you were just about to say fuck,” Jackson says. 

“I was not,” I say, and push his head down gently so he knows what I want him to keep doing. 

“Admit it,” he says, slowly pulling my underwear completely down. “You were totally just about to say it. Because I got you that close that fast.” 

I shake my head stubbornly. “You’re hearing things,” I chuckle. 

With my underwear completely off, he massages my thighs and makes my body practically tremor with desire for him to resume what he had stopped. 

“Why did you stop…” I mutter, looking down at him. He’s grinning like the Cheshire cat, shaking his head. “What?” 

“You are so stubborn,” he says, still running his hands firmly over my thighs. “Just say it. It’s not gonna kill you. It’s just emotions, sometimes that word is like a feeling. It’s the only way to express… just, like…  _ fuck _ .” 

I throw my head back and laugh. “Why do you want to hear me say it so bad?” I ask, and he rests his head on the inside of my leg. 

“It’s sexy,” he says, trailing his fingers up the soft skin of my inner thigh. “I’m gonna make you say it. Just watch.” 

He connects his mouth with my core and I press the back of my head firmly against the pillow, opening my mouth in a silent scream as he completely ravages me. My hips are trembling with each of his motions, bucking erratically when he touches certain spots, and I’m feeling so much that I swear I can see stars at the corners of my eyes. 

It’s not the first word that jumps to my mind to say, but I know what Jackson is trying to do. So I just go for it. “Oh, Jackson,” I say. “Fuck.” 

His grip on my outer thighs tightens with both hands, and he digs his fingers into my skin as he makes me come with his mouth. My pelvis twitches erratically against his face and I cover my eyes with one hand as I pant and come down from what he just did to me. 

“I told you I could make you say it,” he murmurs, scraping his teeth over my hipbone. 

I’m sweating. Every time he brings me to orgasm, I’m amazed that my body is capable of feeling such things. Each time we do it, it feels like something completely new. I hope it never stops feeling like that. 

“Don’t you love being right,” I sigh, and pull him up to face-level. He winds his arms around my back and we lay chest-to-chest, and he presses his lips against my forehead slowly and deftly. 

“Well, I know one thing,” he says sleepily. 

“What’s that,” I whisper back. 

“I love you.”

**JACKSON**

I wake up to the sound of crunching and the TV, which I immediately register as unusual. Without opening my eyes, I feel April’s body sitting up next to where I’m laying with her back braced against the headboard. I blink open my eyes and look upwards to see her sitting in the still-dark room with her knees bent and the box of Cap’n Crunch Berries nestled in her lap. 

“What the hell are you doing…” I groan, unburying one arm from the covers so I can rub my eyes with my fist. “What time is it? Has the alarm…?” 

She looks down at me with a surprised expression on her face. “Oh, did I wake you up?” she whispers. “I didn’t mean to wake you up. I’ll go in the living room.” 

She starts to move, but I grab her elbow. “No, stay,” I say, still sleepy. I close my eyes again. 

“But I’m crunching.” 

I snort and reach out for her nearest body part, and I end up resting my hand on her knee. “It’s fine,” I say. 

She crunches a few more times. “You sure?” she whispers. 

“I’m sure,” I whisper back. “As long as you save some for me.” 

“Doubtful,” she whispers. 

“I hate you,” I say. 

A few silent minutes pass where I try and fall back to sleep, but end up just lying there with my eyes closed listening to the soft volume of the TV. “What’s on?” I ask, and I feel her jump slightly. 

“Thought you fell asleep,” she says. “It’s a rerun of _Law & Order_.” 

“SVU?” I ask, my voice gravelly. 

“Duh.” 

“Hmm.” Now that she’s told me what’s playing, it’s easier for me to discern what’s happening. I can hear all the main characters’ voices and somewhat follow along with the plot. Just as I’m contemplating sitting up and resigning to the fact that I probably won’t be getting any more sleep, I hear the cereal bag crinkle as one of April’s hands leaves it, and then I feel her gentle touch on my head. I got it shaved recently, so as she smoothes her fingertips over my skin it sends goosebumps and tingles down my spine. Her rubbing my head is one of the best feelings in the world; it’s always so comforting to me. 

She keeps doing it until I’m lulled back to sleep, while keeping her free hand buried in the cereal bag, of course. 

When the alarm goes off for real, I open my eyes and see April passed out beside me. The TV is still on, but it’s playing so softly that it’s barely audible. I prop myself up on my elbow and resist the urge to giggle as I look at her. I have to cover my mouth with my hand so my laughter doesn’t wake her up. 

She’s breathing deeply, still heavily asleep, lying flat on her back with the cereal box tucked loosely in the crook of her elbow. She has berry-colored crumbs around her mouth and covering the front of her camisole, and also tucked down the front of it. I shake my head and wonder what’s come over her. She always sleeps well, right through the night without so much as getting up to pee. It was very out of the ordinary for her to be up eating a midnight snack watching an episode of _Law & Order_, if I remember correctly. 

“April,” I say softly, reaching over and brushing some hair out of her face. “Apricot.” 

Her forehead crinkles a little bit and her lips twitch as she starts to wake up. Her grip tightens on the cereal box and she takes in a deep breath through her nose, tipping her chin upwards. “Mmm…” she groans. “Did you just call me Apricot…” 

I chuckle and steal a kiss on her cheek. “I did,” I say. “I should call you cereal hog, though, because this box is empty.” I pull it from under her arm and she finally opens her eyes. 

“Oops,” she says sleepily. 

“What possessed you to go get the Cap’n and gorge to an episode of _Law & Order_?” I ask. 

“ _Law & Order_?” she asks, closing her eyes again. “Oh, wait. Oh, yeah.” She giggles to herself. “Craving.” 

“Hell of a strong craving,” I say. 

“Really was,” she says. “Is there any more?” 

I bust up laughing and pull open the box to peer inside. “I think you missed a berry.” I pull out a little blue one. “This is all I got for you, babe.” 

***

April and I get lucky later at the hospital and end up working on a case together. I love watching her in her element as she does workups and checks symptoms and interacts with the patients and makes them feel at home. She’s better at that than most anyone I know, definitely better than I’ve ever been. She’s so personable and kind, both of which aren’t easy traits for doctors to achieve. It’s much easier to be cold and detached and focused on the medicine only, but that’s just not the way that April is. 

We’re looking after a 21-year-old girl who’s been in a car accident. She totaled the thing and wrapped it around a pole, but luckily is awake and talking to us. She’s in a neck brace and can’t move her legs, so April is currently going through the next steps with her. 

“My dad is gonna kill me, my dad is gonna kill me…” the girl says, and April lowers her clipboard and walks to the head of the bed. 

“Reese,” she says, holding onto her wrist. “Take a deep breath. Your parents are on their way, okay?” 

Reese is crying; tears have made streaky paths down her dusty cheeks. “Did you tell them?” she asks. “Do they know?”

“They know you’re okay,” April says. “And they know that you were in a car accident.” 

“Do they know how bad?” Reese asks, her voice shaking. “I was going to go see my boyfriend, I wasn’t supposed to… my dad - he said…” She starts to sob hysterically, and April wraps her arms around the girl’s shoulders instinctively. 

“All they’re gonna care about is that you’re okay,” April says, her voice soothing. “I promise you.” She holds Reese at arm’s length and then wipes away a few errant tears. 

“Do you know what it feels like…” Reese says, getting her breath back. “To just love someone so much but, like, no one gets it? My family doesn’t understand, they’re not gonna understand…they’re gonna be so mad at me.” 

April lifts her eyes and meets mine across the room. My grip tightens on the iPad in my hands and I grit my teeth at the relatability of the statement. “I know how you feel,” April says softly.

“You do?” Reese asks, sounding wary. 

“Mm-hmm,” April says, nodding. “And it’s probably true they won’t understand. But you’re an adult, and guess what? You can make your own decisions now. Your dad can be as mad as he wants about the car, but I guarantee you that he’s going to care more about the fact that his little girl is okay.” 

Reese sniffles. “I hope you’re right.” 

April pats her hand. “I think I am.” 

“Do you have a kid?” Reese asks her. 

April’s voice cracks a bit when she opens her mouth. “Ah… no,” she says. “But I think that’s how my dad would feel about me.” 

Reese nods and wipes beneath her eyes. “Okay,” she peeps. 

“We’re gonna take you in to get some X-rays now, Reese,” I cut in, and April looks up at me with an expression on her face that I can’t read. “Is that okay with you?”

“Isn’t my family coming soon?” she asks. “Will they know where I am?” 

“We’ll have a nurse tell them if they get here while you’re gone,” I say, and motion for April to help me wheel her down the hallway. We make light conversation as we pass through the hall, and stop once we get to a room with a big X-ray machine. 

April walks in tentatively behind me and then stands in the doorway wringing her hands. “I, um…” She looks behind her desperately. “Greg,” she calls. “Can you come help Jackson with his X-ray? I have a consult to get to.” 

Greg walks into the room in his usual happy-go-lucky way, and I greet him with an upward tip of my chin and a polite smile. 

“Wait, where are you going?” Reese asks April as she edges out of the room.

“I have to go,” April says, pulling her lab coat tighter across her waist. “I’ll come back and check on you later, though, okay?” She meets my eyes and offers a smile that I think’s supposed to be comforting. “Let me know how things go, alright?” she says. 

I nod. “Sure,” I say. “Hey, are you sure you gotta go? I think Reese would feel better if you could hang out for a little while, just to make sure her X-ray goes all right.”

“No, I - I have to go now,” April says hurriedly as I switch the machine on. “I’ll catch up with you later.” 


	8. Chapter 8

**APRIL**

A little more than two months pass, and at the end of the coldest January I’ve ever experienced, I’m 13 weeks pregnant. 

I still don’t know how the father is, and both of them are none the wiser. I’ve gotten close to telling Jackson a handful of times, but I just can’t seem to work up the courage. What we have going between us is so perfect, and I know this is going to ruin it. And if not ruin it, at least change it indefinitely. 

I’m not ready to give us up yet, even though I know the time will come soon. It’s not fair to him - or Matthew, for that matter - to keep this a secret for much longer. And either way, it’s going to be impossible soon. I’ve already started to show in little ways. 

I’m a small person by nature, so my body changes haven’t been noticeable yet to anyone but me. But on mornings when Jackson’s already at the hospital and I’m in the foggy bathroom after I get out of the shower, I wipe the condensation off of the mirror and stare at myself. My breasts are bigger, definitely heavier, and achy all the time. I’ve gained a little weight in my face, but most of the weight is centered mostly, of course, around my belly. It’s begun to push out just slightly in a way that only seems different to me. At work, I wear a looser scrub top, but that’s about the only clothing change I’ve had to make so far. 

Today when I step out of the shower, I wrap the towel around myself right away and wrap my hair up in a matching one as I walk back into Jackson’s bedroom. He’s still laying in bed, arms resting loosely on the pillow above his head, fast asleep. 

He had gotten home late last night and still has to go in with me this morning - so he decided to sleep a little longer this morning. But he’s gotten to sleep in for 45 minutes now, and if he doesn’t get up soon he’s going to make us late. 

I walk over and, while holding my towel turban upright on my head, lean down to kiss him on the forehead. “Wake up, sleepyhead,” I say softly, brushing over his hair with my palm. It’s getting longer every day; he needs to get it trimmed soon. 

“Mm-mm,” he says, shaking his head. “Five more minutes.” 

I glance at the clock and see that he has a little bit of cushion. “Okay,” I give in. “Five minutes, but that’s it.” 

A few feet away from him, I let my towel fall to the ground and quickly slip on my underwear, bra, and the shirt I plan on wearing to the hospital that I’ll change out of once I get there. In just that getup, I walk to the kitchen and pour myself a big bowl of Cap’n Crunch Berries; a craving of mine that never died away. 

I walk with the bowl back into the bedroom, where Jackson is stirring. He opens his eyes to slits and smiles slightly as he sees me standing there eating, and then rubs his eyes with one fist. “Have you ever wondered…” he asks, his voice raspy. “Why he insists on being called Cap’n and not just… you know, Captain?” 

I sputter a little on the bite of cereal that’s in my mouth as I laugh at him. “Because he’s not a snob,” I say. “Captain is pretentious.” 

He takes in a deep breath and sits up in bed, leaving the covers behind. All he’s wearing is a pair of dark green boxer-briefs and nothing else. He hates sleeping in anything more than that. “I think it’s pretty snobby to insist on being called Cap’n,” he says, rubbing his eyes some more. “So particular.” 

I shake my head at him and take another bite. “If you’re going to judge him, then maybe you should stop eating his cereal.”

He stands up and stretches his arms high over his head. “I’m not the one eating it, last time I checked,” he says, smiling. 

“Here,” I say, and extend a spoonful to him. He gladly accepts, and chews as he’s walking into the bathroom. “Now you are.” 

I finish my cereal and go back into the bathroom to put on my makeup and dry my hair once he’s in the shower. As I stand in front of the mirror, I hear him yawn and then let out a long, drawn-out sigh. “You could come in here, you know,” he says. 

I roll my eyes as I carefully apply my eyeliner. “I’m already showered.” 

“You could’ve waited.” 

“If we both slept in, there’s no way we would’ve gotten to work on time,” I say. “Plus, there are times where we can take separate showers.” 

“I disagree,” he laughs. “You’re totally wrong on that one. It saves water.”

“Okay, environmentalist.” 

He chuckles at himself and I move onto my mascara, opening my mouth so I won’t get any on the skin around my eyes. “Can you turn on the radio?” he asks a few moments later.

With the mascara wand still to my eyelashes, I reach over and hit the radio on. There’s a sports broadcast on spewing names and terms that I don’t recognize, so I reach over and change the station to find some music. “Hey, wait,” Jackson insists. “Go back, go back. I wanted to hear that.” 

I shake my head and go back. “This is boring,” I say after a few minutes. “I don’t even know what they’re talking about.” 

“The White Sox,” he says. 

“White socks?” I ask. “Seriously?” 

He steps out of the shower and changes the radio station to B96, which plays Top 40 that he hates and I love. Right now, Paris by the Chainsmokers is on. “Not socks like...socks,” he says, tightening the towel around his waist as he kisses my head. “It’s a baseball team here.” 

I pull out the hairdryer from the drawer I keep it in and plug it into the wall. “I thought the Cubs were the only baseball team that matters,” I say, flicking the heat setting button up and down before I actually turn the machine on. 

“Well, the White Sox are cool, too,” Jackson says. “They just don’t get as much glory. You know the Cubs and the whole 108 year curse thing, winning the world series, bricks and ivy and all-” 

“Yes, yes, yes, okay,” I laugh, waving him off. “I’ve heard it all already from you.” 

A sly grin pulls at his lips as he swipes my hair away from one shoulder so he can kiss my neck. When he gets closer, he wraps his arms around my waist but I spin around, out of his grasp, and point the hairdryer at him. 

“Don’t distract me,” I say, feeling jittery with nerves. Because that secret is still waiting to come out, I don’t feel comfortable with his hands on my stomach anymore. When he finds out, I want it to be because I told him. Not because he jumped to conclusions on his own. I don’t want him to think I’m keeping this from him because I don’t want to tell him, because that’s not it. I just wish this could’ve happened later. Just a few years down the road. Then, instead of these debilitating nerves, I might actually be feeling excitement. 

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay,” he says. “I’m gonna get dressed.” 

“Your green shirt’s clean,” I call out after I’m done drying my hair. He’s in the walk-in closet, so I have to lift my voice a little so he hears me. 

“It is?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” I say, switching the curling iron on. “I washed it in a load the other night. You were still at the hospital, I figured you’d want it for this week.” 

He comes out with it on over a pair of jeans, smiling. “It is my favorite,” he says, and kisses me. “What would I do without you?”

“Suffer and die,” I say, tipping my head to one side so I can curl a big chunk of hair. As I’m holding it in place, he skims his hand over my lower back and reaches across me to grab his toothbrush. 

“I wish you were kidding,” he says, and I shake my head. 

The way he’s looking at me never gets old. There’s a light behind his eyes that isn’t there for just anything; it’s reserved only for me. He looks at me like I personally hung the moon, and now instead of feeling warm all over when I get that look from him, I just feel guilty. I can’t sit with this secret any longer.

I have to tell him soon. 

**JACKSON**

In the car on the way to the hospital, something is different. Usually, April is switching the stations on the car radio to avoid commercials and chatting the entire ride there - all through the side streets and down Lakeshore Drive. But today, as we weave through the snow-covered city, she’s absolutely silent. 

I try to make up for it, switching on the radio station that we had been listening to in the bathroom at home. The song that’s in the middle of playing is something with a light, poppy beat - that I know April is fond of - but she turns the dial down right after it comes on. 

“Not feeling up to music today?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”

She shrugs one shoulder and takes a bit of her lower lip into her mouth. “Nothing,” she says. “Just thinking.”

I switch lanes so I can turn left, looking back over my shoulder before facing forward again. “About what?” I ask. 

She adjusts the way she’s sitting, now with one leg crossed over the other, leaned against the door. Her arms are folded across her lap in a stance that looks protective and closed-off. I haven’t seen her act this way in a long time, and it’s concerning me. I want to get inside her head and find out whatever’s bothering her so I can make it stop. 

“Just work,” she says. “I have a bowel resection today. It’s just on my mind.”

Her words barely come out of her mouth before I realize that they’re not the truth. A bowel resection for her is no big deal; it hasn’t been a big deal for either of us for years. There’d be no reason why it should be on her mind. She’s using it as an excuse, I know that. Whatever it is is something bigger, but she apparently doesn’t want to tell me.

I convince myself that it’ll come out in due time. When she’s ready, she’ll come to me. I don’t want to pressure her. 

When we get to the hospital, I get out of the car and see that she’s walking to the sidewalk to wait for me while I get my bag out of the back. Her walk looks different; she’s placing more weight in the back rather than the front, and I’ve noticed that for a couple weeks now. At first it was barely discernible, but now it’s more obvious than ever. My forehead crinkles as I get my bag out, thinking over why she’d be walking like that. It doesn’t make sense on the slippery ground. 

I give her a small smile and we walk toward the front doors together, arm in arm. About halfway there, though, she catches a patch of black ice and her feet slip, and her grip on my arm tightens dramatically. I keep a firm hold on her so she won’t go down, and she stays standing but is breathing heavily once she regains her balance. 

“You okay?” I ask, rubbing her shoulder.

Her eyes are wide with fear, and I noticed that her free arm flew to her stomach. I let my eyes flit down to it, but I bring them up to her face before they can rest there for long. 

“Yeah,” she breathes, standing up straight. “That was just…” She lets out a forceful gust of air and smiles with her mouth closed. “Scared me. I’m good, though. They really need to salt that sidewalk.”

“Yeah, they really do,” I say, and keep a good hold on her until we’re through the doors. 

***

I can’t stop thinking about the small ways that April has changed throughout the rest of the day. Over the course of time, they didn’t occur to me, but now that I’m thinking about them all at once… everything seems to be adding up. They’re just tiny nuances, so because of that it’s hard to discern when I see her every day. There’s nothing drastic. But it’s become enough to notice. 

I’m sitting in a conference room with paperwork strewn out in front of me, not doing any of it, when I let my mind wander to all that’s different. She hasn’t had wine in weeks - and I know better than anyone that wine is one of her favorite things. Back at Grey Sloan, she’d always look forward to a glass of it after a particularly long or grueling day. But recently, orange juice is about the wildest thing that she’ll drink. And a lot of it, too. I never realized that she was such a huge fan. 

The past two times I’ve suggested that we go out for sushi, she’s declined my offers and insisted we eat at home instead. Sushi used to always sound good to her, no matter the time of day or what kind of mood she was in. The first time I had just brushed it off, but the second time, after it seemed like I caught her off guard with my question, it started to dig at me. She couldn’t provide a valid excuse as to why she didn’t want to eat it, she just didn’t want to. I took her words for face value as best I could, but still. Something else was up. 

The wine, the sushi, the way she walks, and what’s more - the fact that she hasn’t let me see her without a shirt on for almost a month now. She used to be comfortable walking around the house in just a pair of pajama pants and a bra as she got ready in the morning, but lately that hasn’t been the case. At night, I’m lucky if I get to play the part of the big spoon. For the past couple weeks, she’s been wrapping her arms around me from behind instead, or sleeping with her head on my chest. 

I stare at a particular spot on the wall and chew on a tiny portion of my lip. My eyebrows keep lowering as the realization dawns on me, and I know I’m not wrong. 

My gut twists with too many feelings for me to name. Frustration, confusion, nervousness, fright - a mixture of everything and I can’t keep any of them straight. 

By now, it’s past dinnertime and I know April will have caught a ride home from Halle. I don’t have to be here any longer, either, and now I don’t want to be. I need to get home and talk to her. I can’t put this off another second. 

In the car, my mind is going a mile a minute and my mouth is dry with nerves. My hands clench the steering wheel and I’ve chewed the inside of my cheek so furiously that the skin is raw and ragged. I try to stop, but I can’t make myself. 

When I pull up in the garage, I sit in the car with it turned off for a long moment to gather myself. I don’t want to fight with her. I don’t want either of us to blow up. I don’t want her to feel cornered, but I do want to feel heard. 

I ride the elevator up to my place and when I walk in the door, she’s behind the counter cooking dinner. It smells like lasagna, and I can see that when she pulls it out of the oven I’m not wrong. 

“Smells good,” I say, setting my stuff down on a barstool. My hands feel cold and clammy, so I wipe them on my jeans to dry them off. “How long have you been home?” 

“About an hour and a half or so,” she says, taking her oven mitts off. “This has to set for a while. Do you wanna go sit?” 

I nod and kick my shoes off, then walk over to the fridge for a beer. Normally at this time I’d call out and ask if she wanted me to pour her some wine, but I don’t do that tonight. “Do you want some orange juice?” I ask.

“Um, water’s good,” she says, so I pour her a tall glass of it with ice and bring it over. 

She’s sitting on the couch wearing a baggy crewneck sweatshirt with one foot on the floor and the other tucked beneath her, and she gives me a small smile when I hand her the water. “How was your day?” she asks after I get comfortable. 

“Um, it was okay,” I say, and after I study her face I can see that something is off. 

I don’t want to force our way through uncomfortable small talk; this isn’t us. I have to get straight to the point. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something,” I say. 

She looks at me over the lip of her water glass as she takes a long sip. “Sure,” she says.

I clear my throat and set my beer down carefully on the coffee table - on a coaster that she brought here a couple weeks ago. “I’m just gonna come right out and say it,” I say. 

“Please,” she says. “You’re kind of killing me.” 

I laugh nervously. “Um, okay, so… uh - April, are you pregnant?” 

The silence between us is somehow charged and stagnant at the same time. Her facial expression changes at least five different ways - everything ranging from shock to submission. Her mouth falls open and a small sound comes out, and when she finally speaks all she says is, “What?” 

“I - are you pregnant?” 

Her eyes become glassy and I see the tears gathering along the edges. I will her not to cry, but I know her. And crying is a natural reaction. “Um...yeah,” she stammers, and lets her hand drift down to rest over her belly. 

Simultaneously, I feel like a weight is lifted off of my shoulders and then shoved back down. “How far along?” I ask. 

Her eyes search my face. I can’t be sure what my expression looks like right now, but I imagine it’s not pleasant. I feel like I’ve just been hit by a truck. “Thirteen weeks,” she admits softly. 

I lean against the back of the couch and hold my head to counteract the oncoming dizziness I feel. Thirteen weeks - that’s what, a little more than 3 months? 

“How long have you known?” I ask, my voice barely rising above a whisper.

She traces the rim of her glass. “Since about four weeks,” she says. I stare at her for a long time as my mind wanders. Three months ago was around mid-October, which was the time that we became a thing. We slept together before Halloween, that’s what I remember. The question that’s now digging into my mind is when the last time she slept with Matthew was. “Please say something,” she says. 

My lips part, but no sound comes out at first. I feel my eyebrows crease with a frown that I try to lift, but it doesn’t work. Right now, it’s stuck on my face. “Is it his?” I ask. 

The color drains from her cheeks as she grips her water glass tighter. “I… I don’t know,” she finally says. 

I take a long time just breathing, closing my eyes for a moment before I say anything else. I feel like my world is turning upside down without my consent, and I have no idea what to make of this, but I still don’t want to blow up. She looks afraid enough as it is. 

I’m not sure how much time passes, but I can barely think of the right thing to say. The right thing is the hardest thing - so hard that it almost physically pains me to get it out. “If there’s any chance this baby is Matthew’s,” I say calmly. “I think you owe it to the marriage you had to try and make it work. I don’t…” I clear my throat. “I don’t want to get in the way of family.” 

I feel like I’m going to throw up. Of course I don’t want her to leave me, but if I put myself in Matthew’s shoes and try to see how it would look from his point of view, I would want him saying the same thing in my position. I would do anything to keep her, but I’m not going to deprive a father of his child. That’s not what I’m here for. 

“What are you saying?” she asks. “What does that mean?” 

“It means you need to tell him,” I say. “If I were him, I would want to know. I’m  _ me _ and I wanted to know.” My jaw trembles and I know she sees. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Jackson,” she says. “I didn’t want us to change. I didn’t want this to be ruined. I didn’t want…” She trails off. “I don’t know. I just wish it wasn’t… like this.” 

I sit with her words for a long time. Of course I agree, but now it is ‘like this’ and there’s nothing we can do to take it back. I’m not sure what else I can say. I don’t know where we go from here.

“What happens now?” she asks. 

I shake my head. For some reason the fact that the lasagna must be getting cold comes to mind, even though that seems so silly now. I don’t have an appetite, and I doubt I’ll ever have one again. At least that’s what it feels like right now. 

I look up from the couch and meet her eyes. I lean in, take her cheek in one hand, and kiss her like I mean it. It’s soft and gentle, but it would be impossible not to feel the meaning behind it. There are emotions passed between our lips that could never be put to words. And I would never try. 

When we pull apart, her face is wet and shiny with tears. “Is this what you want?” she asks softly, wiping her cheeks with the knuckles of her pointer fingers. 

I glance from her eyes, down to her lips, and up again. “No,” I say truthfully. “It’s not what I want at all.” There’s a long pause where the only sound in the room is her sniffling and trying to stifle her crying. “But we both know it’s the right thing to do.” 

She lets out a long, ragged-sounding sob that seems involuntary. “I love you,” she says, and I can’t miss the one hand that’s resting over her stomach. 

“I know,” I say.

We don’t spend much longer on the couch. We’ve always had a sort of unspoken way of talking, and it gets put to good use as time passes and she stands up and walks to the door to put on her shoes. She’ll be going home tonight, and for the first time in months we’ll be spending the night in our respective houses - alone. 

I watch her as she gets her things ready. Shoes, purse, coat. “Your scarf,” I say, and unwind it from the hook where it was resting. I loop it around her neck and then unfluff her hair from it. The expression in her eyes is enough to gut me, so I can’t look for very long. I know this is the right thing to do. I know we can’t keep this up - not while the baby’s father is unknown. I just can’t do that, and I know she can’t either. Keeping the secret must have been making her sick. 

“Thanks,” she says, adjusting it. 

She puts her hand on the door handle, and I touch her shoulder as she goes to leave. “I just gotta tell you,” I say, and she looks back at me. “I hope she’s mine.” 

Somehow, she sobs and smiles at the same time. Letting go of the door handle, she throws herself into my arms and I hug her with all my might for the last time in what feels like might be forever. 


	9. Chapter 9

**APRIL**

When I get to the walkup, it’s freezing inside from being empty for so long. I toss my bag down by the front door and wrap my arms around myself as I walk to the thermostat to crank it up, and then head to the kitchen to find something to eat. I had made that lasagna for dinner earlier, but now I won’t get to enjoy it. I doubt Jackson will, either. He was pallid and drawn when I left, and when he gets that upset he doesn’t eat.

I don’t really want to eat, either. But the baby does, so I have no choice. I end up sitting on the kitchen counter eating a peanut butter sandwich, no jelly, just staring ahead absentmindedly. The bread sticks to the roof of my mouth and as I get wound tighter and tighter inside my intrusive thoughts, I feel my grip tightening on my sandwich and when I look down a few moments later, it’s squished and pulverized in my fist.

I let out an incredulous gust of air and fan open my fingers, revealing what I’ve done. The bread sticks to my palm and my fingers are coated in the sticky mess, but all I can do is close my fingers and mush it all together again.

I sit there for a long time, somehow thinking about nothing and everything at once. Jackson is right; I do have to tell Matthew. He deserves to know that I’m carrying a child that has just as good of a chance at being his as it does being Jackson’s. I don’t know how I’m supposed to tell him, though. The last communication that we had was signing the divorce papers through our respective attorneys; since then, we haven’t so much as passed each other at the hospital.

I tell myself that it’s not something I need to worry about tonight. I don’t even feel present with myself, yet somehow I can’t manage to escape my own head. I want to know, more than anything, if tonight was the last time that Jackson and I will have anything between us. If this baby is Matthew’s… I don’t know what will happen in the future.

The last thing I want is for Jackson to disappear.

I know I shouldn’t be worrying about my relationships right now, though, when I have something much bigger on my plate. I’m growing, as Arizona always used to put it, a tiny human inside me. Their life takes the biggest priority and I have to remember that. What role Jackson - or Matthew, for that matter - plays in my life is secondary.

Jackson’s words as I was leaving play like a broken record through my mind.

_I hope she’s mine. I hope she’s mine. I hope she’s mine._

Though we both are fully aware how pregnancy works and what kinds of things are discernible at what times, he still called the baby a girl. I wonder what made him do that, and I wish I could ask.

I rest my left hand over my belly and smooth out the wrinkles in my shirt. “Are you a little girl in there?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper. I sigh and then say, “Whatever you are, I’m sorry about all of this. When I pictured having a baby someday… I didn’t think that it would be like this.” I pull on the hem of my top and let my shoulders deflate. “I still love you. Whatever happens, I still love you.”

I blink hard and set my other hand down on the counter, realizing only then that it’s still covered in the peanut butter mess. It’s too late, though, at this point my palm is flat on the countertop and the stickiness is spread out in a handprint. I lift my hand gingerly, stare at the mess, and then start to cry. That’s all it takes to push me over the edge that I was so delicately balancing on.

I hop down and turn the sink on, then furiously scrub my hands under the scalding water as tears stream down my face. I scrub past the point of cleanliness and onto the point of mania, but I can’t seem to stop. Doubled over with my elbows on the sink, I work my hands until the skin is red and raw and I don’t have it in me anymore to keep going.

I melt down onto the floor, hiccuping from my heavy sobs, with my back against the cupboard doors. The handles are digging into my shoulders, but I don’t make any effort in moving. I can’t believe I’ve done this. I let myself stray this far, and I’ve only experienced consequences for it. I have no doubt whatsoever that this is God punishing me for sinning so much and being seemingly unrepentant for it.

I should’ve seen this coming from a mile away, but I didn’t. Being with Jackson makes me feel unlike anything else ever has - he challenges me, encourages me, laughs with me… and loves me more passionately than anything I could’ve ever expected. In my life, I never thought I’d have a love like him. I never thought that I would find someone for me; not someone like him, at least.

I always thought I’d find someone like Matthew. A good Christian boy who shares my upbringing and has deep roots in family values. He was predictable, he was the future that everyone saw coming.

That’s the reason being with Jackson is so thrilling. I’ve never been the type of girl who Jackson’s type would even see, not in a million years. But he sees me. He _more_ than sees me. We disagree on plenty of things, but that doesn’t mean anything past the surface. What we have for each other is real.

But what we have is also scary and unknown. At the same time it excites me, it terrifies me to my core. I can’t see clearly into the future with him like I can with Matthew. I don’t know what’s next for us - ever. I can’t see around the corners, and I feel like I have no safety net.

Matthew is my safety net, all-encompassing.

I direct my eyes towards the ceiling and let out a shaky breath. The house is still cold, and I don’t want to be in the kitchen any longer, so I stand up and flick all the lights off and head upstairs to our old bedroom.

Everything is just as I left it the last time I was here. A book I never finished is on the nightstand, dog-eared in the middle. My running headphones are on the top of the headboard, tangled in a mess that I had fallen asleep one night trying to undo, and my jogging jacket is in a neat, folded square the foot of the bed. I think I had meant to bring it to Jackson’s, but must have forgotten it along the way at some point.

I change into pajamas and put a sweatshirt on over that, crawling under the covers with fuzzy socks on to keep my feet warm. As I lie in the silent, chilly darkness, the fact that this is the first time I’m sleeping alone in months and months is staring me in the face. I get cold easily at night, but Jackson is a furnace. I never had that problem with him, and the pain of missing a warm body next to mine is nearly unbearable. I curl up in a ball and try to supply my own heat, but it doesn’t come close.

***

I dread going into the hospital the next day, but I force myself. I won’t let my personal life get in the way of patients who need me - I’ve never been one to do that. I get up, shower, and pull myself together. I just have to wear a smile long enough to make people believe that I’m okay. I tell myself that once I start faking it, maybe I can even make myself believe that I’m just as stable on the inside as I look on the outside.

For the first few days, it’s hard for me to even interact with patients. Somehow, everything they say brings me back to my personal problems even if they have no close correlation. I get over that in time, though. By the end of that week, after going to church every night after work, I’m back to my normal, cheery self with the people who don’t know me.

What doesn’t get easier is running into Jackson. Whether it be a stolen glance from across the hall or a case that we somehow end up working on together, it’s painful. Looking into his eyes is enough to make me spiral downhill, but I try not to let it show. I can tell it’s just as bad for him. There are so many unasked questions hiding behind his eyes that will never be spoken out loud; there’s so much between us that no matter what life could throw at us - no matter how substantial - it wouldn’t be big enough to erase.

We exchange pleasantries, mostly. But on Thursday when I’m in the cafeteria sitting alone and he comes to sit down next to me, I know it’s going to be more than that.

“Hey,” he says cordially, cracking open his water bottle.

“Hi,” I say back, resting my elbows on the table. “How are you?”

“Fine,” he says. “You?”

I want to tell him how much I miss him. I want to tell him how much I want to come back and sleep next to him every night; I miss just knowing the fact that he’s there.

Being alone in my big house is harder than I thought it would be. I’m lonelier than I’ve ever been before, and at night when I look down at my baby bump, it only makes me sadder. I should be sharing this with someone - with him - but I’m not.

“I’m fine, too,” I say, and push around my yogurt with my plastic spoon.

“Have you told him yet?” he asks, speaking quietly and leaning closer to me. His eyes are jumping around nervously, wondering who could be listening in. No one is. The two of us sitting together doesn’t catch wayward glances anymore.

I open my mouth and a tiny sound comes out, but that’s all he needs. “April…”

“I know,” I say, looking down at my food. “I’m going to tell him soon. I just… it hasn’t been the right time.”

“It’s never going to be the right time,” Jackson says, and his tone isn’t malicious even though his words are loaded.

“I know,” I admit.

He sighs. “How have things been at your place?”

I search his face, wondering if I should break down and tell him everything. How much I hate going home to an empty house, making dinner for just myself, and falling asleep as I watch TV alone. “Not the same,” I say, and nothing more.

“I know how you feel,” he says, pressing his lips together.

“I want to come back,” I say. “I hate this… I hate the whole not being together thing. You’re right there, and I’m right here. It feels so silly to keep myself away from you.”  

“I know,” he says quietly. “I hate it, too.”

“I know it’s not the best for us to be together right now,” I say. “I get that.”

“I’m just thinking of you,” he says, his voice soft and withdrawn. He can barely meet my eyes. “I don’t want anyone in this situation to be hurt.”

Warmth exudes from my heart and spreads through my body hearing his words. If only everyone knew the side of him that I know; the gentle, caring, sensitive side that he hides away so expertly.

“I know,” I say. “Me, neither. Really. It’s just…”

“Hard.”

“Exactly.”

I sigh. “I just don’t know what he’s going to do,” I say. “What he’s going to say, how he’s going to react…”

“If he’s a good guy, he’ll hear you out. If he’s the guy you married, he’ll see your side.”

I make meaningful eye contact with him and hold it while debating whether or not to say what I want to. “You saw my side,” I say. “You listened to me. You did more than that. At this point, it almost seems like you’re rooting for him.”

His shoulders bounce once with a tiny chuckle. “I’m not rooting for anyone,” he says. “I just think he should know, like I told you. And I don’t think it’s best to keep doing what we’re doing while he doesn’t know.” He shrugs. “I’m just trying to be a standup guy.”

I touch his wrist, and then pull back. I don’t need words for him to know how I feel, he’s already perfectly aware.

Interrupting our lunch, my pager beeps and I look at it quickly before packing up my lunch and heading off. “Thanks for sitting with me,” I say, and he nods and offers a little smile before letting his eyes stare vacantly into space.

I end up thinking about our exchange for the better part of the day, all the way until I’m home again. I let his words sit with me, and I hold onto them as I go through my mundane routines and it’s almost like he’s here with me.

The next morning, I have time to sleep in a little because I have the day off. I’ve cranked up the heat since the beginning of the week so much so that it’s become hot in the house, so when I climb out of bed all I bother with putting on are a pair of leggings and a sports bra.

As I go about my morning, I look down fondly at my belly and skim my hands over it now and again, proud that I can finally have it out in the open. With my being home by myself, there’s no reason why I shouldn’t. I like looking at it, and knowing that it’s there.

Tomorrow, my second trimester starts because I’ll officially be 14 weeks. I’m looking forward to my queasiness lessening up even more than it already has - I’d love for it to be gone completely. Some days I’ll go through the whole thing without throwing up a single time, and other days will be so bad I feel like I barely leave the bathroom, let alone see patients. But I push through.

I’ve been waiting for some time to clean this place and get all the dust out, and today ends up being the perfect day to do it. After my breakfast smoothie, I turn up the Top 40 radio on my Spotify and work up a sweat as I scrub the house from top to bottom. I work past lunch because I’m so in the zone, and when the songs are switching from [It Ain’t Me](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5drYkLiLI8) to [Slide](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WFQqAZBOwfQ), I hear the front door open and close downstairs.

I turn down the volume of the music and my stomach jumps as I hear footsteps. I feel more excitement than fright, though, because the door was locked and I’m assuming that I accidentally left my extra key at Jackson’s place and it’s him who just came in. I get up from my spot on the bathroom floor, untucking my knees from under my body, and stand at the top of the stairs. “Hello?” I call out.

Then, someone appears at the foot of the stairs who I hadn’t expected to see.

Matthew.

“Hey,” he says, and looks me up and down with an indiscernible expression on his face. “I… I didn’t think anyone would be here. I was just coming by to…” His mouth opens and closes like a fish for a second. “Grab something. April, oh my god, are you pregnant?”

Even though I’m still standing in the same spot, I feel like I’ve been shoved down the stairs head-first. I don’t have a shirt on, still just my sports bra. My belly has just started to poke out noticeably enough, especially without anything to cover it. One hand flies to my stomach, where it stays resting protectively. There’s nothing I can say right now that will save me.

I guess I’m done hiding.

Without answering quite yet, I walk down the stairs slowly to meet him. He hasn’t shaved in a while; he has stubble coating his cheeks but it’s not unattractive. It’s sparser than Jackson’s grows, but I scold myself for noticing that right off the bat. His eyes are hooded and wary, searching mine for answers that he’s desperate for, and his body language is tight and closed off. I can’t blame him. He must be so confused.

When I reach him, I grab a zip-up hoodie that’s hanging on the hook and put it on, then wave him over to the couch. “We should sit down,” I say. He follows my direction without saying a word. We sit across from each other on the white couch - the last place we had sex - and by the look in his eyes, I can tell that fact isn’t lost on him, either.

“Okay, so… yeah,” I say. “I’m obviously pregnant.”

“How far along?” he asks.

“14 weeks tomorrow.”

His eyes dart around as he does the math, then something unexpected happens. His face breaks out in the biggest grin I’ve ever seen.

“Oh, my god,” he says incredulously. “Holy… wow. You’re pregnant.” There’s a break where he just smiles with his mouth wide open and then grips my upper arms, running over the fabric of the hoodie with his thumbs. “You’re pregnant!”

“I… yeah, I am,” I say, sounding confused.

He stands up from the couch and walks the distance of the rug in front of the coffee table, back and forth. “I can’t believe this…” he says. “I haven’t seen you, we haven’t talked, oh god - you must’ve thought that I’d be…” He stops pacing and looks at me dead-on. “I’m not mad. I’m not mad you didn’t tell me. I’m just so… happy.” He sits back down and caps a firm hand over my knee. “I’m so happy, April.”

“You are?” I ask.

“Yes!” he says enthusiastically. “This is what we wanted, right? And it didn’t really happen on the terms we hoped, but… it still happened.” He lets out a happy sigh. “We’re having a baby.”

I wet my lips and then tip my head to the side, opening my mouth to speak. “Matthew, I-”

“I’m sorry for everything,” he says. “Just right now, seeing you, seeing you looking like this…” He gazes down at my belly, even though it’s shielded from his vision now. “Carrying our baby. It’s like… it’s kind of magical, April. I get why you wouldn’t tell me. I totally get it. You thought it would just make things hard, and maybe I wouldn’t be supportive. But I want to. I want to be in this baby’s life, I want to be his dad.” He squeezes my knee. “I want to be there for you, too. I want us to be just, the best freaking parents around. We’re gonna be great, hun. We’re gonna do this. Together.”

I can’t help it. I feel something that feels a lot like hope rise in my gut from from seeing the gleeful expression in his eyes. This is the man I married. The man who loves his family and whose future is predictable. I’m not thrilled or on the edge of my seat when I’m with him, I’m comfortable. Even at his most excited, his energy doesn’t match the general hum that Jackson carries around day by day.

But I know what to expect from Matthew and what he’ll give me. He’ll give me what my grandpa gave my grandma, what my dad gives my mom, and my what brothers-in-law give to all my sisters. Stability. Reliability. Comfort.

“Yeah?” I say, letting my lips pull up with a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, then grips my hands. “God, I’m so happy, April. I’m so relieved! I thought for sure, for those three months, I thought for sure you’d gotten together with him again. I’d heard things around the hospital, and at first I didn’t want to believe them, but after a while it got to me. I had completely given up hope for this - for us. But now I realize how wrong I was about everything. I’m so glad you weren’t with him - and now we’re doing what God wants. This is His plan, April. Do you see that?”

I feel my face twitch minutely and I wonder if he sees it. I won’t let that dread creep in, though. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him, at least for right now. I can’t ruin that look in his eyes. He doesn’t have to know this minute.

“I do see it,” I say, nodding. “This is God’s plan.” I say the words out loud not for him, but for myself. To cement them into my brain and convince myself that they’re true. I want to believe they are - I want that with everything I have. But it’s proving harder to see what God wants for me with every new step I take.

I tell myself that God placed the man meant for me right in front of me. He’s looking at me with renewed hope and vigor in his eyes; he wants to make this work for our baby.

“Yes, exactly! This is part of His plan - this is what He wanted. We had to go through a lot of strife to get here, but I think that was all part of the lesson. We proved that we could make it through, I’m seeing everything totally differently now. This child,” he says, glancing at my stomach. “This child is proof we’re supposed to be together.”

He takes a long look at me and then, with his hands still gripping my shoulders, kisses me on the lips. “We’re going to have a family,” he says, smiling. I match his happiness as best as I can, and start to feel it try and become real. “No. We _are_ a family. I’m gonna take this house off the market and we’re going to raise our family in it and be the happiest people ever. I love you, April.”

I lean into him and wind my arms around his neck and hug him as tightly as I can, staring at a thread on the couch that’s pulled loose over his shoulder.

***

Matthew and I ride into work together the next day like nothing ever changed between us. He turns on the oldies station that he likes and I hum along to Uptown Girl by Billy Joel as he taps his thumbs on the steering wheel as he drives. When we park, he strokes my cheekbone with his thumb and says, “Be careful in there today, okay?”

I laugh a little. “Careful? Why?”

He widens his eyes like I should already know. “The baby,” he says. “Don’t do anything crazy.”

I scoff. “Matthew. The baby is the size of a lemon. Plus, I’ve had it inside me for a while now, I know what I can and can’t do. You don’t have to worry about me,” I say.

He sighs, giving in. “Okay, okay,” he says. “But you know, I’m allowed to worry a little. That’s our kid in there.” He smiles and pecks me on the cheek. “Just keep him safe.”

“I will, worrywart,” I say, and then get out of the car. “See you tonight. I’m off at 7.”

I wave him goodbye and then walk into the hospital, zipping my coat higher up to my chin as I go along. It’s freezing out today, and the wind doesn’t help. I make sure to be extra careful on the ice before the door; I have no one’s arm to hold if I end up slipping.

I look down at my stomach and see it pushing out a little bit, just noticeable enough. Now that Matthew knows, there’s not really a reason for me to keep hiding it anymore, so I go back to wearing the scrub top size that fits me more normally instead of making me look like a baggy lump. I change out in the open, glad that I can feel free with my body again, when Halle walks into the attendings’ lounge.

“Jesus, April,” she says, and I pull on my shirt fully on over my head. “Are you pregnant?” I look down at myself yet again and wonder if it’s really that obvious. She must be able to read minds, because she says, “Not that you look, you know, _big_ or anything but you’re a tiny little shit and your belly - well, I mean, unless you just ate-”

“No,” I laugh. “Yeah. I am pregnant.”

“Okay, good. Well, good, right? I’m glad I didn’t call you fat just there.”

I shake my head. “Nope, pregnant.”

I can practically feel her turning over the facts in her mind as she sets her stuff in her locker. “Wait, so Jackson is gonna be a daddy?” she asks, standing up straight again and looking at me with lit-up eyes.

I bite my lip and think of what to say. There’s nothing that could fill this silence that would make for a good answer, and I don’t know if I can trust her with the truth. But she’s the only one who knows about me and Jackson - or at least _knew_ about us - so she’s the only one who will ask.

“I - um, no,” I say, and surprise even myself. “I think it’s Matthew’s.”

I don’t think anything. I have no idea who’s the father of my baby, but it sounds better if I say that. Matthew was my husband. By conservative views, he should be the father of the baby. I’ll get less judgment this way, that’s for sure.

“Oh,” Halle says, and for the first time since I’ve known her, she doesn’t have anything else to add. “Well, congratulations.”

“Um, thanks,” I say, and tighten the drawstring on my scrub pants. “I just started my second trimester today, so that’s pretty exciting. 14 weeks!” I giggle nervously. “And I guess you noticed, I’m starting to show. It wasn’t going to be that easy to hide anymore.”

I don’t mean to blabber on, and I feel guilty once I’ve done so. She looks awkward; like she just wants to get out of this room and away from me. I’m not an idiot, I know why. Jackson is her friend, and now she feels caught between being loyal to him and being happy for me. I don’t want to make her have to choose, though, so I get my stuff ready to leave while she’s still changing her shirt. “I’ll see you around, okay, Halle? I gotta get to rounds.”

“Yeah, okay,” she says. “See you.”

I walk into the hallway and run into the chief, who I take the time in telling that I’m pregnant. He’s happy for me, and especially happy when I tell him that I plan on working until this thing pops out of me.

I do my rounds, check up on a patient that I operated on two days ago, and make sure everything is running in order like I always do after I’m gone for a day. Once I find out that it is, I can rest easy and I feel like I can jump right back into my routine.

I have lunch with Matthew in the middle of the day, sitting on a bench in the breezeway between the two main parts of the hospital. It’s heated during the winter, but it still makes me feel like I’m outside, so I like to pass through here when I can. It’s the first time I’ve ever eaten here, though, and it’s pretty nice.

For some reason, he doesn’t bother catching up with me. He doesn’t ask how I spent the three months apart or where I stayed. I know he knows I wasn’t at the house, because it was up on the market and he definitely had to go through it to see I wasn’t living there. He doesn’t ask how my job’s been going or how I’ve been feeling with keeping the pregnancy all to myself. At first I’m a little annoyed that he doesn’t seem to care, but then with more careful consideration, I’m glad for it.

I don’t want to try and come up with lies to smooth over those three months. It’s best if we just forget they happened and move on. He has the right idea.

After we’re done eating, we just sit side-by-side and watch the hospital life happen around us for a few minutes. With his arm around my shoulder, he keeps me close and kisses my temple when it’s time to get back to work. “See you at 7. Oh, wait,” he says before leaving. “How’s my baby doing?”

“Oh,” I say, surprised he’s finally asking. “I’m good. My feet are sore, but they’re swollen so that’s always going to be the case, really. And it’s just gonna get worse from here. I don’t know how it can get worse, but it’s going to. My fingers are getting big, too - ugh, I hate this water retention stuff. But other than that, yeah. I’m good. My energy will definitely be better now that I’ve eaten.”

He giggles a bit awkwardly. “Well,” he says. “I was actually asking about the baby inside you.”

Realization hits me and I immediately feel stupid. “Oh, right,” I say. “Duh. Of course. Well, the nugget’s good in there. Nothing out of the norm, just living its life tagging along with me.”

He gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek. “Good. Have a good rest of your day.”

“You, too,” I say, and walk in the opposite direction.

I sit at the nurse’s station and catch up on some charts for an hour, and when I look up for the first time since burying myself in them, I see Jackson walking out of a patient’s room looking pensive and deep in thought.

I push the wheeling chair back that I’m sitting in and call out his name. He doesn’t hear me at first; he keeps his head ducked and the light of the iPad is glowing onto his face so I can see his tepid expression, so I call out to him again. “Jackson,” I say.

He looks up with his eyebrows raised and then walks my way. He rests his elbows on the counter of the nurses’ station and leans forward so our faces are only about a foot away from each other. No one else is around; it’s only us in this dimly-lit hallway, and it feels like midnight even though it’s only dinnertime.

“Hey,” he says. “What’s up?”

I run the bottom corner of the paper that I have in front of me between my thumb and first finger, rolling it into a curlicue. “I… wanted to tell you…” I begin, but I find myself without as much gumption as I had hoped I’d have.

“You told him,” he finishes for me, and I’m glad that I wasn’t the one who had to come out and say it. I don’t know if I could’ve, at least not without stammering and sounding unsure.

“Yeah,” I affirm.

He nods, his eyes drifting away from me and his mouth set in a pensive frown. “Good,” he says.

“Yeah,” I say again. I can’t think of what else to say, I just thought he should know. I thought he would want to know. “He took it well.”

Jackson raises his eyebrows in fake interest. “Yeah?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good.”

There’s a strained silence between us that I hate more than anything. Suddenly, we’ve done a 180 and are now back to the way we were when I first got here, and this is the last thing I wanted. I’m not exactly surprised, but I feel heartbroken. I’m losing him all over again.

“We’re gonna try and make it work,” I say, grasping at straws. “Us and everything. For…” My voice croaks and I stare down at the blinking red light on the phone in front of me.

“The kid,” Jackson says. “That’s great, April. I’m happy for you guys.” He clears his throat. “But does he know? That there’s a chance that it might not be his?”

I bite the inside of my lower lip and feel my forehead crinkle with worry.

“April,” Jackson sighs.

“I’m gonna tell him,” I insist. “I’m gonna tell him everything. I just - he was so happy, it happened so fast… I couldn’t do it right away.”

He shakes his head. He won’t look at me now. “You keep running away,” he says, and the punch of that statement knocks the wind out of me.

“I’m not-”

“Yes, you are,” he says, his voice holding more urgency. “You’re trying to glaze everything over for the sake of being happy in the moment, and it just doesn’t work like that, April. None of that happiness is going to last if you keep lying to the people closest to you.”

I open my mouth to refute him, even though I know he’s not wrong. “I’m not running away,” I say. “I told him I was pregnant just like I said I would.”

“You’re missing the point,” he says with a huff.

“No, I’m not,” I say, sitting up straighter and staring daggers into him. “I did what I said I would do.”

“You told a half-truth,” he says. “Does he know you spent every night at my place in the three months without him? Does he know that we had sex? Does he know that you told me you loved me, and that I fell in love with you all over again?” My silence tells him all he needs to know, but he doesn’t stop. “Does he know that baby that I’m sure he’s so excited about might not even be his?”

I put all my papers in a pile and then stack them, making them straight. Even as I stare down at the counter, I can feel Jackson’s eyes burning into my forehead.

“I didn’t think so,” he says. “And you and I both know that he needs to know those things. You can’t keep lying to people, April.”

I look up with tears brimming, threatening to fall over and drip down my cheeks. “I never wanted to…” I take in a big breath to try and compose myself. “I never wanted to hurt either of you. I didn’t want that. I…” The tears spill and fall all the way beneath my chin. “I don’t know what I want anymore.”

Jackson picks up the iPad and looks at me with emotion-laden eyes. “I think that’s something you need to figure out for yourself,” he says, then walks away.


	10. Chapter 10

**JACKSON**

My bed sheets still smell like her. 

I keep telling myself over and over again that I’m going to wash them. Every day following the night she leaves, I make a plan to do it - but then it doesn't happen. I collapse in bed after I get home from work and breathe her in, and it’s almost like she’s still right there. 

If I close my eyes and just be, I can come close to picturing her. Dressed in one of my t-shirts and a pair of her brightly-colored underwear, laughing with her head thrown back over something I said. Messy, flyaway hair gone unbrushed, no makeup on, just April - naturally herself. 

Missing her makes it hard to be angry with her, and I find myself having to go over and then re-go over everything that she’s done to make me mistrust her. She kept her pregnancy from me for almost the first whole trimester; a pregnancy that could very well result in my baby. She could look me in the eye everyday for those three months and know that she wasn’t telling me the truth and continue to live her life like nothing was going on. 

I know she sees eight sides to everything. I know she would never intentionally hurt me, but that doesn’t mean that I didn’t get hurt in the process. 

Growing up, becoming a parent was never something that was on my radar. It’s not something I ever thought about; I never considered that one day I could be a father. I didn’t have a father of my own to look up to, and to this day I try to think about that as little as I can. What kind of a dad would I be, anyway? I have no examples to take after. I have no one to ask guidance from. I wouldn’t even know where to begin in raising a child. 

Matthew is the better choice for this kid. He was probably raised in a big family with plenty of positive influences with values that he can pass down onto the child that April will bear to him. My family is small; I grew up just me and my mom, and most of the time she was working her ass off for our family name. I had a lot of nannies, all of whom I loved, but none of whom could replace my need for an actual parent. 

As I’m lying in bed on a windy Sunday night, this is what I’m thinking about. I force myself to hope that the baby is Matthew’s so I won’t have a chance in failing it. 

I know that’s what I’d do. What other option do I have? My own father failed me. Who’s to say that I wouldn’t take after him? 

That baby deserves someone better than me. April does, too. 

I turn over on my side and stare at the empty spot where she used to lay. She falls asleep faster than anybody else I’ve ever known, so in bed at night I would always feel her go before me. I miss the feeling of her body twitching lightly against mine as she falls deeper into sleep, and then the little noises that she’d make at the same time. I’d always fall asleep better with her pressed up against me in some way, so now I barely sleep at all. 

I reach for my phone and click it on, and the brightness practically blinds me. I turn it down and then tell myself not to go there, not to relive the memories, but I go anyway. I open the Messages icon and click on the first thread of texts that I have, which are April’s of course. I don’t do a lot of texting ever since I stopped with the string of different girls I used to bring home every night. Nowadays, I’m too busy missing the one girl who left me behind. 

Our last text exchange was from a couple days before she left when I got home first and she was waiting on some bloodwork to go through before coming to meet me. 

**SENT: 7:31pm-** are you going to be home soon? im so starving i might just have to make something myself

**RECEIVED: 7:32pm-** you can waaiitttttttt :P do not get near that oven, avery. youll burn the house down!!

**SENT: 7:32pm-** ugh

**RECEIVED: 7:35pm-** so impatient. Didnt your mother ever teach you that good things come to those who wait? ;) 

**SENT: 7:36pm-** april dont tempt me. And dont make me think about my MOTHER when you say shit like that i swear to god

**RECEIVED: 7:38pm-** what? I have noooooooo idea what youre talking about ;) 

**SENT: 7:38pm-** your winky face says otherwise 

**RECEIVED: 7:40pm-** what? ;) ;) ;) ;) 

**SENT: 7:41pm-** i really hate you 

**RECEIVED: 7:45pm-** sure sure :) just got my results from the lab!!!! im dropping them off with britton then ill be on my way home to you baby ;) 

I click the button the side of my phone and the screen goes black, then I plug it into the charger and lay it face-down. I debate going back into it and deleting our entire slew of text exchanges, but I don’t have the strength to follow through. 

In the morning, I wake up to a song that I haven’t changed from my alarm. 

_ I can’t hide it from the world, no _

_ Promise you it’s for sure _

_ Just in case you don’t know _

_ That I love you _

My eyes flick open and I dig for my phone where it’s gotten buried under the covers, but I can’t find it quick enough and the song keeps playing. 

_ I don’t think that we need oxygen _

_ ‘Cause our love’s deeper than the ocean _

_ Give me your devotion _

_ I’ll always be open _

_ Girl, I love you _

I finally dig my phone out and shut the alarm off, and my room is enveloped in silence once again. I used to love waking up to that, even though I never used to be a big fan of pop music before her. I would’ve never known that song existed - [143 by Johnny Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vd6D5Eq4oDU) \- had it not been for April. 

I heard it for the first time late on a Sunday morning. I woke up confused, wondering where it could be coming from, and when I opened my eyes I saw that she wasn’t in bed next to me like I had expected. The sound was coming from the kitchen, where I also heard the clanging of pots and pans and the sound of her high and airy voice singing along.

I smiled to myself and then got out of bed, putting on pants but not bothering with a shirt, and went out to the kitchen to see what she was up to. I couldn’t help but laugh when I saw her; dancing in circles with a spatula in one hand, wearing an oversized Cubs shirt of mine and drawstring pajama shorts with her hair up in a messy ponytail on top of her head. 

“That is the highest ponytail I’ve ever seen,” I said, walking up to the counter. 

She jumped and spun around, a wild smile on her face. “Jackson,” she’d said. “You’re up!” 

“What in the world are you listening to?” I asked, then picked up her phone to look. “Johnny Rain? Who the hell?” 

“No, no,” she said. “Don’t make fun. It’s a sweet song, and also really fun to dance to.” She set the spatula down and came around the counter to wrap me up in as big of a hug as her tiny self could muster. “It reminds me of us.” 

I felt butterflies in my stomach from the look on her face; genuine sweetness and joy that I was finally awake. To me, there was nothing more pure in the world than her happiness. 

I listened to the lyrics as it played through and watched her eyes shine as she sang along. It was a love song, generic at best, but I liked that she thought of our relationship throughout it. I didn’t care that it was a cliche, couple-y thing to do. It was ours, and that made it okay. 

She spun around some more and made her ponytail fly, and went back to the stovetop to stir up the eggs she was cooking. When the chorus played again, she pointed the spatula at me and sang along with: “That I love you.” 

I stare up at the ceiling now and flip through other songs in my library to set as my alarm so I won’t have to relive that memory every time I wake up. I can’t find anything that will jar me enough, so I change it back to a default beeping sound that will surely get me out of bed. 

I get into the shower after turning the radio on, and after it comes back from commercial I realize that it’s set to B96, the Top 40 station. I have my hand on the shower door to open it and change the station to sports, but once a song starts playing - I think it’s something by Katy Perry - I leave it on. I never used to be the kind of guy who knew the current pop songs on the radio, but ever since April… I’ve become that guy. Even after she left, there’s no growing out of this for me. It’s not that I like this music, per se, but it reminds me of my time with her. 

The good times, at least. The good times always float to the surface of my memory, whereas the bad sink to the bottom and are harder to dig up and refresh. That fact makes it harder to hate her and much, much easier to miss her.

When I get to the hospital, I find myself up on the floor where the nursery is and tell myself that I just need to come here because it’s quiet and I need to have a moment of solace before my shift starts. Doctors in baby-pink scrubs pass by me silently in the hall, and I know I’m sticking out wearing my turquoise ones from the floors below, but I try to look inconspicuous. 

When I get to the glass window looking into the room full of babies, I stop. I take some time just watching them; most of them are sleeping, some are trying to bust out of their tight swaddlers, but none are crying. I smile a little watching a baby boy near the front open and close his mouth as he tries to get used to his face. 

“One of ‘em yours in there?” A voice next to me asks, and I jump a little as I look over. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to startle you.” 

Standing next to me is a man about my age with an impressive goatee and shoulder-length brown hair. I laugh nervously and shake my head. “No,” I say, then gesture down to my scrubs. “Just a doctor.” 

“Shame,” he says.

“Why?” I ask. “Is one of them yours?” 

He beams and points, his finger pressing against the glass, to the back row. “That little lady one over from the left,” he says. “Born at 5:38am. Madelyn Rose.” 

I smile and make a small affirmative sound. “Beautiful name,” I say. “Congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” he says, and keeps staring at his daughter. “I sure do love her. It’s kinda crazy how much. I just met her, you know?” He laughs. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be talking your ear off. You probably don’t care. I just…” He shrugs. “You’re the first person I’ve seen, so you drew the short straw, my friend.”

I shake my head. “No, it’s okay,” I say, but as the words come out I feel my throat clog with emotion. I’m now finding it impossible to turn back and look at those babies again, because of how badly I want one of them to be mine in a few months. Hearing the way this stranger is talking about his newborn daughter makes me want to be in his shoes. 

“You have a nice day,” I say, as I start to leave. “All the best for your family.” He gives me a nod and a wave, and I make a beeline for the elevator. Once I’m inside, my chest deflates and a huge breath escapes me as I try and process all the thoughts that are going through my head.

I want to know if that baby’s mine, and I know it’s possible. Prenatal paternity tests are accurate after 8 weeks, which April has long passed. But the sticking point isn’t how accurate the test is - it’s that it would involve getting a DNA sample from Matthew, too. And in his mind, there’s no reason why he would need to be supplying DNA. 

Until Matthew knows the truth, there’s no way that a paternity test will happen. 

I make a small, incredulous sound to myself as I think ahead and play out what would happen if April doesn’t get the test, and Matthew is in the delivery room when she has the baby - and it ended up being mine. I can’t help but grin when I picture the look on his face if he sees a biracial child lying on April’s chest. 

It can’t get to that point, though. He has to know before the baby is born - which means she has about 6 months left to tell him before we find out for ourselves. 

**APRIL**

Jackson was right. It’s never going to be the right time to tell Matthew. 

Every time I get close, I chicken out or he does something that makes me feel so guilty that I can’t bear to burst his bubble. I’ve never seen him this happy the whole time I’ve known him - not even the day we got married. And with every day that passes, I feel worse and worse about it because his happiness is so genuine. I try to join him in it, and I think I do a good job of faking, but mine is nowhere close to reaching his level. 

It’s like that for a few reasons; the biggest one being that I know much more of the story than he does and ignorance is bliss. Especially when you don’t know you’re ignorant - that’s the whole point. The second reason, put simply, is because every day I force myself not to miss Jackson. 

I’ve been carrying around the weight of my secret for more than a month now - figuratively and literally. The baby is growing every day and as of yesterday, I’m officially 20 weeks pregnant and today we find out the sex at the ultrasound appointment.

I’m already downstairs, dressed and ready, when Matthew joins me. We both have to work today, but the appointment is early so we can get it done before our shifts start. “Morning,” I say, spinning around on my barstool so I can look at him.

“Hey,” he says. “What are you doing?” 

“Waiting for you,” I say. “What are you gonna have for breakfast?” 

He goes around the other side of the counter and pulls out a frying pan. “I was thinking eggs,” he says. 

I screw up my face. “You know how I feel about eggs,” I say. They’ve been a food I’ve avoided since first finding out I was pregnant; I don’t throw up at the smell anymore, but the thought of them still grosses me out. 

“Wait, what?” he asks, setting the pan down on the range. 

“I can’t do eggs. And I can’t be around them, either, you know that,” I say. 

“Oh, yeah,” he says, and leans forward so his weight is braced on his hands. “How about cereal, then?” 

My eyebrows raise and my eyes light up. “That sounds amazing,” I say. 

He turns around and opens a high cupboard that I’ve never tried to reach, and pulls out a bag with a brand of cereal on it that I don’t recognize. “I got your favorite,” he says, proudly displaying the bag. Now that I can see it better, I can see that it’s the store brand of Crunch Berries, which I’ve never tried.

“Oh, nice,” I say, then try to make my voice sound more peppy. “Thank you!”

“I knew you’d be excited,” he says. “See? I notice things.” He gets a bowl down from the cupboard and pours the milk in first, then the cereal. “Enjoy.”

As he finds his own cereal to eat, I take a bite of mine and widen my eyes at how crunchy it is. The taste is relatively the same - but something is missing and I can’t put my finger on it. Something about this off-brand isn’t right, but I’m not going to tell him that. Also, it’s close to overflowing because the milk went in first. Before him, I’d never met anyone who pours the milk in first, but I just roll with it. 

“Taste good?” he asks, halfway through his bowl. 

“Mm-hmm,” I say, my mouth full. 

“Are you excited for today?” he asks. “I know I am. And I’m already pretty sure what we’re gonna be having.”

I tip my head to one side. “Oh, really?”

He nods definitively. “I can just feel it. We’re having a boy.”

I scoff. “And you know this, how? You’re not the one carrying it inside you.” 

“Well, obviously,” he says. “But I remember when you first told me, I just had this feeling. You know? I think I even said ‘him.’ It just came out of me. I think we’re going to have a son.” 

“A son, hmm?” I say, and he nods again and then dumps the milk in his bowl in the sink. “We’ll see, I guess. I don’t think you’re right, but…”

He pulls his coat from the coatrack and adjusts it on his shoulders. “I really think I am right.” 

“Alright, alright,” I say. “We’ll just have to see.” 

We get to the hospital, and as we make our way up to OB, our fingers stay intertwined. As we’re waiting for my name to be called and sitting in the uncomfortable waiting room chairs, Matthew strokes my skin with his thumb and I can’t stop my foot from bouncing a mile a minute. He looks down at it, grins slightly, and puts his foot overtop of it so it’ll stay still, but then my knee starts jiggling. 

“Are you nervous?” he asks, looking at me incredulously. “Don’t be nervous. You’ve gotten ultrasounds before.” A slight pause. “Are you nervous that I’m right and it’s gonna be a boy?” 

I chuckle softly. “No,” I say. “I’m fine. I just have a lot of energy, so it’s hard for me to sit still.” 

“You can get that out at work later,” he says. “Just try and calm down. You’re gonna make the little guy anxious, too.”

“Or girl,” I say. “We don’t know yet.” 

“Right, right.” 

Luckily, we only have to wait a couple more minutes before a young nurse calls me in. Matthew follows close behind and then sits in a chair near the bed once I lay down on the uncomfortable, filmy paper. Even though this isn’t my first ultrasound, the weird feeling of being the one on the bed instead of the one giving the exam hasn’t left. I feel totally out of place lying here, my shirt pushed up to my bra line and a weird cloth down the front of my pants to catch any extra gel - totally out of place and exposed. 

“Okay, April, so you’re in for your 20-week,” the OB, Dr. Mediratta, says, glancing at my chart. “How fun! Are you finding out the sex of the baby, or do you want me to keep it a secret?”

“We’re finding out,” Matthew cuts in. I nod following his words. 

“I could probably tell anyway,” I say, laughing a little. “I’m a doctor.” 

“Oh, really?” Mediratta asks, squirting some of the gel onto my stomach. Luckily, it’s been in a warmer so the temperature of it isn’t a shock. “What do you do?”

“I’m head of trauma here,” I say, resting my head back and relaxing my neck. I lift my arms and rest them over my head to stretch my body out more. “We’re both heading into work after this, actually.” 

“Oh, nice,” she says, then asks Matthew what he does.

“I’m an EMT,” he says. Mediratta nods politely, but doesn’t seem to have much to say on his behalf. I see him watching her, waiting for a comment, but she doesn’t say anything. He looks a little put off by it; I can only assume it’s because he likes being recognized for what he does and is always talking about how people don’t give EMTs enough credit. 

“Okay, let’s see what this little one is up to,” she says, moving the sensor around. “Oh, baby is facing us today, look at that! And they have their thumb in their mouth… see that right there?” She points to the screen and I can clearly make out the shape of the baby with its hand to its face. “You’ve got yourself a thumbsucker.” 

I make a small sound in awe. “A thumbsucker,” I say. “I sucked my thumb until I was 8.”

Matthew laughs. “You did? That seems a little old.”

“It was,” I say softly. “But it’s sweet.” 

“Alright, are you ready to know?” Mediratta asks, looking at us excitedly. We both nod. “You two are going to be having a little girl.”

My whole body floods with a rush of emotion and tears spring to my eyes. I’m going to have a daughter.

“Her growth is right on track, she looks great for 20 weeks. A strong fetal heartbeat, comfortable positioning, both mom and baby are doing beautifully. You want a printout, right?” she asks. “One or multiple?” 

I open my mouth to say multiple, because Jackson is currently on the forefront of my mind. But Matthew gets to it first. “Just one,” he says. “Thank you.” 

We walk to the elevator on the OB floor side-by-side, and I’m still staring down at the printout of her when Matthew presses the button. “I guess I was wrong,” he says as we step in. 

“Don’t sound so upset just because you were wrong,” I say. “She’s healthy and she’s happy, that’s all that matters.” 

He offers me a smile and then kisses the top of my head. “You’re right,” he says. “I don’t know, I guess I just had a really strong feeling it was a boy. Caught me off guard. But yeah, I’m happy it’s a girl.” 

“She,” I correct him. “ _ She’s _ a girl.” 

“Right.” 

***

I keep her ultrasound in the front pocket of my lab coat all day and am perfectly aware that I’m subconsciously looking for Jackson around every corner. I don’t see him until lunchtime; I catch him just as he’s coming out of the attendings’ lounge, headed for the OR board. 

“Hey,” I say, stopping him by gently grabbing his wrist. “Can I talk to you?” 

He glances toward the board and then back at me. “Make it quick,” he says. 

“I just wanted to tell you…” I glance around and see a good number of people milling about - including people that we know. “Um, maybe we could talk in private,” I say. 

“April, I have patients,” he says. 

“It’ll just take a minute,” I say.

He sighs and looks off to the side, probably deciding whether or not this conversation is worth it. “Fine. But I only have a minute.” We walk into an empty patient room and shut the door; I even go so far as to pull the blinds. Once we’re completely alone, he leans against the wall and shakes his head. “We shouldn’t be in here. April, you can’t just get me whenever you want me. We haven’t spoken in what - a month? This isn’t your-” 

“She’s a girl,” I say, and pull the printout from my pocket. I flip it around and hold my arms out straight so he can see it. 

He stares at the 4x6 picture for a long time but doesn’t make a move to take it out of my hands. When he finally blinks, he meets my eyes and I see that his are shining with an underlying emotion that he won’t let show on his face. 

“Why are you showing me this?” he asks. 

My throat tightens. “I thought you would want to know,” I say, and replace the sonogram in my pocket. “I just found out this morning.” 

“The both of you found out, you mean,” he says, his tone turning vehement. “You haven’t told him.”

“I-” 

“No. I was going to ask you, you know? I was going to ask you if you’d told him, but I already know the answer. And the answer is no, you haven’t.” He clenches his fists at his sides and bends his neck back. “It’s been over a month since you said you would. You’re 20 weeks pregnant - the baby is big enough to know that it’s a girl. And you still haven’t told him that it might not be his.” 

“I’m going to,” I insist. “I keep meaning to, and it’s just never-”

“I’ve heard you say that a million times,” he says, gritting his teeth. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. When you come tell me these types of things while you’re still all tied up and happy with him; don’t you know how much that hurts me, April?” 

I open my mouth to respond, but discover that I don’t have anything worth saying. 

“I have feelings, too,” he says. “I don’t want to know that the baby’s a girl. I don’t want to know anything.” His eyes shift down to my belly that’s now poking out more than ever before. “You’re being a child about this,” he says. “You’re deliberately not making a choice because you’re scared. You’re scared of who you’re going to hurt. You think you’re somehow saving both Matthew and me from getting hurt from this, but you’ve already hurt both of us. At this point, you’re just being selfish, April. You’re living in your own world, not thinking of anybody but yourself. But you know what? You’re gonna have to deal with this sooner or later. That baby’s not gonna wait.” 

He turns on his heel and puts his hand on the doorknob, making to leave. But before he goes, he looks over his shoulder and stares me dead in the eyes when he says, “Congratulations, by the way. On your baby girl.” 

When he leaves, I’m left staring at the spot he left empty. My eyes are stinging from the need to cry, and I notice that my hand has found its way to rest over my bump. My mouth is gaping; I feel like I’m in shock over what just happened. I knew that we weren’t on the best terms, but I hadn’t expected so much rage to come from him. 

He was the one who told me that I needed to figure this out. He’s told me that twice, and both times I’ve said I would and then not done it. Instead of telling Matthew the truth, I got back together with him. It wasn’t supposed to turn out like that, but I had twisted Jackson’s words inside my head and made them work for my situation. 

I thought he would want to know that the baby is a girl. At least, I  _ think _ I thought that. Going over it now, I can see how me telling him that wasn’t the best idea. I just rubbed salt in his wound, seemingly on purpose. Because he’s right. I was thinking of myself. 

I walk out of the patient room and almost run into Halle. “Which way did Jackson just go?” I ask her, looking either direction down the hallway. 

“I’d leave him alone, if I were you,” she says, eyes down on her binder full of charts. “He’s pissed. And he doesn’t want to talk to you.” 

I roll my eyes at her. “I know that. But I need to say something to him.”

She looks up from her papers. “I think you should be done saying something,” she says, then shakes her head. “You really hurt him, April.” 

I push past her and hastily wipe a tear from my cheek. “I know that,” I say, trying not to let myself cry. “I’m trying to fix this. I just need to talk to him.” 

“To fix it?” she asks. “I think it’s a little late for that.” 

“Would you stay out of it?” I snap, and pull out my phone to call him. Of course, he doesn’t answer. I glance at the OR board and see that he’s due in surgery in 15 minutes, which means he’s probably already on his way to get scrubbed. 

“Damn it,” I say under my breath, and set my phone down roughly on the counter of the nurses’ station. 

“Damn it?” I hear from behind me, and I turn around see Matthew standing there with two paper bags in tow. “What’s wrong?” He kisses my cheek. “Brought us lunch. Wanna go eat?” 

I take one lasting glance down the hallway, but find it empty. Jackson is gone.

My eyes drift back to Matthew and a vacant smile appears on my lips. “Sure,” I say. “I have a few minutes. Let’s go.” 


	11. Chapter 11

**APRIL**

I haven’t been sleeping.

And I don’t mean not sleeping like, I’m getting a little less sleep. I mean I’m really not sleeping. For the last couple days, at best, I get about two and a half hours a night. And I can only get those when I’m not in bed next to Matthew.

I try every night. We lay down around the same time if we’re both home - which we have been - and I close my eyes and listen to him drift off. He’s a clock, just like I used to be. Once he falls asleep, I wriggle out from whatever hold he has on me; whether that be an arm slung across my hips or one of his legs resting between both of mine, I know I won’t be able to rest with the heat of him touching me. 

Then I lie there and stare at the ceiling for hours, going over the script of how I plan on telling him. I can’t settle on anything. I’m sure if I could, I’d be able to sleep. 

With whatever I tell him, I know he’s going to end it between us. Is that what I want? Do I want an excuse for whatever we’re trying to put back together to fall apart again? I don’t know. I truly don’t know. 

Jackson was right. I don’t want to hurt either of them, but I can see how I’ve already done that. Matthew is going to be heartbroken when I tell him. I don’t even want to think about what his face will look like. 

With each passing minute that I keep this secret, I’m being unfair to everyone but myself. I’m even being unfair to the baby girl growing inside me. She doesn’t deserve to come into a world that’s been based on lies. 

I get up out of bed on Friday morning around 3am and head down to the kitchen. I pour myself a glass of orange juice and heat up some rice that we had for dinner and sit on the couch while I eat it. I sigh once it’s gone and then lay down on my side, staring at the light that I left on in the kitchen until my eyes burn from it. 

I must fall asleep there, because before I know it I’m being shaken awake by Matthew and the sun is streaming in from the picture window behind me. “April,” he says gently. “Wake up.” 

I take in a sharp breath. “What?” I ask confusedly. 

“Why were you sleeping down here?” he asks. I blink my eyes hard and notice that he’s showered and dressed already. 

“What time is it?” I ask, rubbing my bleary eyes. I feel like I’ve been run over by a train, somehow worse than if I hadn’t slept a wink. 

“A little past 9,” he says. “I figured you were already up and at ‘em. I didn’t expect you to still be asleep. What’s going on?” 

He sits down on the arm of the couch and I sit up and deflate into the back of it. “I haven’t been sleeping very well,” I say. 

“Really?” he asks. “You should’ve woken me up and told me.” 

“Wouldn’t have helped,” I say. “And you need your sleep, too. I just came down here, had a midnight snack and I guess… fell asleep.” 

“Couldn’t have been that comfortable,” he says.

I rub my hand over a sore spot on my back, now that he mentions it. “Yeah...” I trail off.

“Anyway, do you still wanna go baby shopping today? I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 

I blink as I try to remember the plans that we made. “Baby shopping?” I repeat, mostly to myself, then it dawns on me. We’re supposed to go to shopping today for nursery furniture and newborn outfits and supplies. “Oh, right. Yeah, I still want to go. Just let me go get ready.” 

I fall asleep in the car on the way to Buy Buy Baby with my head lolled to rest on my right shoulder. I feel the car stop deep within my subconscious, but I keep my eyes closed until Matthew’s done situating his things and he pulls the keys out of the ignition. 

“Ready to go in?” he asks, and I take in a deep breath. “Oh, were you asleep?” 

I nod groggily, resting the side of my face on my closed fist. The last thing I want to do right now is go inside that store and exhaust myself with shopping, but we’re already here and I know it’d be stupid to just turn around and go home. “Yeah,” I say, picking up my purse from the floor. “I’m ready.” 

We walk inside and I’m instantly overwhelmed with seemingly every baby product ever created lining the shelves. I raise my eyebrows and look around, then ask, “Geez, where do we start?” 

Matthew pulls out a list from his pocket and hands it to me. “You made this a couple nights ago,” he says, looking confused that I don’t remember. 

“Oh,” I say. “Right. Pregnancy brain.” I take the wrinkled piece of paper from him and see that the first thing on the list, scrawled in my loopy handwriting, are pacifiers. And from there, the things we need seem to go on and on forever. 

We get a cart and slowly fill it up. From pacifiers to bibs, diapers to nail clippers, little booties to boppy pillows; it all piles higher and higher. 

Matthew is enjoying himself, but I’m feeling drained and heavier than ever before. When we stop in the clothing section and are looking for a onesie to bring her home in, I can’t take it anymore. All I’m thinking about is what colors Jackson would like, what he would think is cute and what he would think is just plain silly. 

I can’t keep this secret anymore.

“Matthew,” I say, as he flips through a rack of tiny, folded clothes. 

“Hm?” he says, raising his eyebrows without looking up at me. 

I stop flipping through the little hangers and rest my hands on the metal part of the rack. My mouth goes dry, and I have to open and close it a few times to create enough saliva to actually speak. “I need to tell you something,” I say finally. 

“Okay,” he says, not grasping the gravity of my words. He picks a onesie out of the group and holds it up; it’s pink with a yellow owl on the front. “How about this? Do you like this one?” he asks. 

“Can you put that down?” I ask. “Maybe we should find somewhere to sit.” 

“It’s okay, just say it,” he says, still not picking up on my seriousness. “We’re making good headway. If we stop now, we’ll be here all day.” 

I stare at him with wide, burning eyes as he continues to flip through the onesies. “Matthew…” I trail off, suddenly losing the order of words that I’ve been trying to put together for days. I feel like I’ve lost the ability to speak at all. “Will you look at me, please?” 

He lifts his eyes from the clothes and focuses them on me with slight exasperation. Once he gets a task in his head, he likes to keep at it until it’s finished. Interruptions are one of his biggest pet peeves, but I have a feeling he’s not going to care so much about being interrupted after what I’m going to tell him. 

“What’s up?” he asks, shaking his head minutely. “What’s this about?” 

I inhale and exhale deeply. “I’ve been lying to you,” I say, and finally his interest is piqued. 

“What do you mean?” he says. “What are you talking about?” 

“Can you - can you just let me talk before you jump all over me?” I ask. “Just let me get this out. This isn’t easy for me.” 

“Okay…” 

I take my hands off of the rack and cross my arms over my chest so they can rest on the top of my belly. “After we split up, I did something,” I say. “It wasn’t right, but I still did it.” I stare down at the blue carpet and then my pink athletic shoes with the double-knotted laces. Suddenly, I’m noticing tiny details I would’ve never seen before had I not been doing my best to look anywhere but his eyes; the right shoe’s laces are longer and the pink is more faded, and the left has a scuff on the toe. I let out a rattling sigh. “I slept with Jackson,” I say, and as I say it, I feel the air shift between us. 

I look up and the shock is written all over his face. He still hasn’t spoken, so I keep going. 

“It wasn’t long after we…” I break off that sentence. He gets the point. “So by the timing, I can’t be sure if the baby is yours… or his.” My throat clogs with tears. “I’m sorry I lied to you, Matthew,” I say. “I didn’t mean to let it go on for this long. I wanted to tell you, but you were just so happy. I didn’t want to ruin what we had going; I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“How do you think I feel now?” he asks, his eyebrows knitted together furiously. His chin is trembling and the onesie he was holding drops to the floor. He makes no moves to pick it up. “I should’ve known,” he says, his eyes glistening. “You couldn’t stay away from him. I should’ve known, just like I said. I already knew. I already knew why we moved here…” 

“I didn’t do any of this on purpose,” I say, now gripping the handle of the cart. “I didn’t set out to hurt you. I’m sorry that I did that. I’m so sorry I lied. I just couldn’t… I don’t…” 

“But are you sorry you did it?” he asks, gritting his teeth so his voice won’t shake. “Are you sorry you had sex with him?” 

I wait too long to answer. 

“I thought I knew you,” he says, his voice low. I’ve never heard him sound like this; the best way I can think to put it is heartbroken. “I really thought I did.” 

“I’m sorry,” I say again. 

We spend a long time just standing quiet, the only sound around being the generic soundtrack playing over the speakers in the store. 

“I’m going to sue you for a paternity test,” he says, his lips pressed together. “Because if it is mine, I’m gonna be its father. If that’s my baby-” 

I skim my hand over the bump. “You don’t have to sue me, Matthew. I’ll get it done. I owe you that.” 

He stares ahead, just past me. “Okay,” he agrees. 

“As soon as I can.” 

“I said okay.” 

My whole body feels hot and filled with a sick sense of relief that this secret is finally lifted off of me. At the same time, though, I feel like I might vomit from how much I’ve ruined his life and his view of me. I never thought I was this person. I never thought I was capable of doing this to another person - and one so undeserving, at that.

“I’m sorry,” I repeat for what feels like the millionth time. 

“You’ve said that,” he says firmly. “We should go.” 

We leave the cart overflowing with baby things and get in the car, where he starts it up and faces forward. I do the same, gripping the armrest gently and resting my other hand loosely on my lap. 

“I’ll drop you off at the house,” he says. “But I can’t be around you.” 

“I understand,” I say, and watch the world whiz by as we speed down Clybourn Avenue, away from Buy Buy Baby. When we pull up to the house, he doesn’t go into the alley to the garage, he just pulls up to the curb and presses his foot down on the brake as he stays staring ahead with glassy eyes. “I’m sorry,” I say. 

“Please go,” he says. “Contact me about what you need for the test, but that’s it. Just...please leave.” 

I get out of the car and stand on the sidewalk as I watch him drive away. I feel hollow and like a newcomer in my own head; like I don’t know this person I’ve become. 

I walk inside and sit on the bench by the door, then pull out my phone. I open the exchange of texts between Jackson and me - the ones that haven’t been touched for over a month - and start to type. 

**SENT: 11:56am-** i told him. he left. im getting the paternity test on monday so ill need a sample from you im sure after i figure out how to go about it. Just thought you would want to know.

***

That night, I go into the empty room that’s supposed to become her nursery and look around. Since finding out that she’s a girl, Matthew painted the walls pink over the course of the week. He wasted no time. 

I wonder what’s going to happen in the coming days; I already know who I hope the father is. 

I hope her father is the one who asked me to be truthful to the man I divorced, because he didn’t want to get in the way of family. I want her father to be the man who I haven’t stopped thinking about a day since meeting him. I want her father to be the man who I’m still so in love with that it hurts. 

He hasn’t answered my text, though. I guess I hadn’t really expected him to. He’s always needed time to think over things before jumping to reply. 

With whatever happens, I’ll need to find a new place to live. If the baby is Matthew’s, this house will be his. I won’t take it after all the strife that I’ve caused him, and I’d prefer a smaller place to live on my own, anyway. 

Even if Matthew is her father I won’t ever get back with him. We’ll share a child and that’s it. I can see now that trying to make the lasting pieces of our marriage stick together for an unborn child was a stupid and immature thing to do. I’m not really sure why I did it - except maybe to form some traditional semblance of a family. It seemed like the glue to hold us back together, but it was really just a Band-Aid on an open wound. 

The concept of Jackson in my life is much more complicated. No matter whose baby it is, I don’t want to go through life - or motherhood, for that matter - without him. 

I know he’d love the baby like his own, even if she is Matthew’s. But I don’t think I could ask him to do take on that role. I’m done asking him to bend over backwards for me. Plus, at this point, how sure can I really be that he would feel that way? Our last interaction was reminiscent of the people we were right before he left to come to Chicago. I hadn’t wanted to see those two again, but yet there they were. 

I messed up his life by coming here. I should’ve just made my bed in Seattle and lied in it. I chose that life for myself, why couldn’t it have been good enough for me? 

I ask myself that question even though I already know the answer. I’m not going to be settled in life until I’m with him. He’s what makes me feel at home, safe, and complete.

I lean against the pink wall and take one last look around, then leave the room and close the door behind me. I get into my pajamas and get comfortable on my bed and end up falling asleep just as quickly as I used to - and sleep through the night for the first time in a while. 

**JACKSON**

It’s a surreal feeling as I’m swabbing the inside of my cheek and then placing it inside a sterile plastic bag to give back to April. We haven’t spoken, really. She gave this to me yesterday evening and told me what I needed to know about the paternity test; Matthew and I have the easy roles. She’s the one who’s already gone to get her blood drawn to send back to this place that’s apparently charging her $990 plus shipping to get a legitimate answer as to who the father is. 

I still smile to myself when I think about the fact that we could just wait until she’s born and see what color her skin is. 

I carefully put the bag with the swab in it in April’s locker so she can find it later, and then go about my day. I’ve been doing much better since I got her text a few nights ago; even though it was her secret to keep and tell, I feel the weight of it lifted from myself, as well. I walk around the halls feeling lighter, and I have hope again. 

I’m not sure what to make of her yet. I want to be able to talk to her, but I don’t want to rush her into a conversation. I’m thinking that maybe we should wait to talk until after the results come in, but I don’t know if I have that much willpower. 

She looks cuter every time I see her as the bump grows. No matter how confused or frustrated I feel towards her, I can’t help but smile when I see her. She was made to be a mother, that’s for sure. She sports pregnancy well, even on that tiny frame. 

I haven’t seen her yet today, except during the passing moment where I caught sight of the back of her head as she walked out the front doors. She still had her scrubs on - she wasn’t leaving for the day - so I’m pretty sure she was just taking her lunch break. That was about an hour ago. 

To put off the charts that I have to catch up on, I find myself moseying towards the nursery again. I’m not really sure why, but it has sort of a calming effect on me that no other unit in this hospital seems to have. It’s comforting to see all that new life in one room, just beginning to learn how to exist. I’ve come up here a handful of times in the past week, just to decompress. It always makes me feel better; something about me is lighter when I head back down those stairs to real life. 

I wave to a couple familiar nurses as I walk to the viewing window, and then stand in my usual spot just looking at the babies. The best part is that there are new babies every day. The little faces that I get used to seeing as I stand here - I’ll probably never see again. They’re big, strong and healthy, and they’re ready to go home. They’re going to start their lives with terrified parents who have so much love for them that they don’t know where to put all of it.

As I think that, I feel the soft grin start to die off my face. I find myself feeling deeply jealous of that feeling, and wanting it for myself. 

I shake the feeling off and wave at the babies. The first row closest to me is a line of just girls swaddled tight in blankets; all except the one on the end who has somehow broken free. She’s got pale, alabaster skin, more hair than I do, and she’s beating the air with closed fists and scrawny legs. I chuckle a little bit to myself and tap the glass very softly over the spot that she is in my eyesight. 

“I see you over there…” I mutter, very quietly. “You’re the one they gotta watch out for.” 

I move my eyes over one and see the little girl next to her with cocoa-colored skin, sleeping soundly with her head turned to one side, towards me. With her lips pushed out and slack, she looks like the picture of innocence with all of her limbs tucked snug into her blanket. “I like you, too,” I say softly. “You look like you’re living the life.” 

One over from her, right in the middle, there’s a little girl just staring at the dim lights on the ceiling; her eyes wide, round and unfocused. “And I know how you feel,” I say under my breath. “I think we’re in the same boat. You do your thing. You’ll figure it out.” 

I keep watching them until I feel a presence beside me. I look down and see no one else standing there but April; tendrils of her windblown hair pulling out of her ponytail, and her face looking flushed and cold, like she just came in from outside. 

She looks up and lets out a short breath. “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with babies,” she says, then turns her face away from me to stare into the room full of them. 

I turn back to face into the room, too. “Yeah, I’m not really sure why I’m up here,” I say, setting my jaw and letting out a long sigh. 

She skims her hand over her belly and stays looking forward. “Did you do the test?” she asks. 

“Yeah,” I say. “Put it in your locker.” 

“Okay,” she says. “Thanks.” 

“When will you have the results?” 

“Nine days or so,” she says, and I can feel her glance at me but I don’t look over. “I’ll mail it out later today. I can’t believe it’s $70 just for shipping.” 

“I told you I’d help pay. And I’m sure if you asked Ma-” 

“I’m not asking either of you to do that,” she says sharply. “I won’t do that. No.” 

“April, it’s almost a thousand dollars for this thing, and-” 

“I can do it myself,” she insists, raising her eyebrows. “I’m gonna fix this. The money doesn’t matter, I’ll make it work. I’ll… I'll make it work.” 

I nod to myself. “Where are you staying right now?” I ask. 

She shrugs one shoulder. We’re still finding it nearly impossible to look at each other. “The house. But probably not for long. I’m working on packing up my stuff.” 

“With that belly?” I ask.

She sighs and tips her head from side to side. “It’s not that big yet. I can do most stuff. I’m a capable person, it’s not like-”

“I wasn’t saying you weren’t capable, breathe,” I say calmly. “Hey, wanna see my favorites?” I ask, gesturing with my head towards the babies. She nods in response. “Her on the far right. She made it all the way out of her blanket.” 

“She must be cold,” April says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. 

“And her, right next door. All snuggled up without a care in the world.” 

“The one next to her is totally me. Staring up at the light, all confused. Doesn’t know what to make of life.” She giggles and then presses her finger against the glass, grinning in at them. “They’re all so cute,” she says, then raises her eyes to mine. “Do you come here a lot?” 

I shrug. “Sometimes,” I say. “Helps me recenter my thoughts. I like watching them.” 

There’s a long moment of silence between us where we just search each other’s eyes. Hers are a mossy hazel, wide with a number of emotions I can’t begin to name. The cold flush has died from her skin, but she’s still wearing the one she has by nature across the apples of her cheeks. 

I let my eyes wander down her body. She’s not wearing her lab coat, so I can see the freckles that peek out from under the sleeves of her scrub top and sporadically sprinkle her skin all the way down to her hands. She looks smaller and bigger all at once thanks to the pregnancy; somehow dwarfed by her belly as she takes up a bigger presence with it protruding from her waist. Her scrub pants are untied to make room for it, and I can see that she’s wearing a new pair of supportive shoes that I’ve never seen before. They’re purple. Her old ones were pink. 

She swipes her hair out of her eyes and opens her mouth to say something, but I beat her to the punch. “I miss you,” I say, and my words surprise even myself. I know how loud my thoughts were, but I hadn’t expected them to come quite so out-of-the-blue. 

I don’t want to take them back, though. 

Her eyes are glistening when she speaks. “I miss you more,” she says, and then swipes a finger under her eye to catch a stray tear. 

“Can I say something and you not get mad?” I ask, my stomach jumping with nerves. Right now, it’s not clear where we stand. And I want to make it clear. 

She nods. 

“I hope she’s mine,” I say, and my voice shakes when the words come out. 

She makes a strange sound, like an incredulous-sounding sob. “Jackson,” she says, her chin trembling. “No matter what the tests say, she’s already yours.” 


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. So!!! This is the last numbered chapter, but this is NOT the end! I'm going to release an epilogue just like I would if it were a Chapter 13. Except it's an epilogue :) it's VERY important to the story, so don't think we're finished here....quite yet.

 

**APRIL**

As I’m sitting in the cafeteria trying to eat, it feels like everyone’s watching me. I know they aren’t, but it’s impossible to eat with the feeling of eyes on my back, so I get up and take my brown sack lunch out of there. I’m not quite sure where I’m headed, but with my coat slung over one arm and my lunch in the other, I walk out the front doors and am met with the nearly overwhelming sound of the city. The city that I don’t know.

It dawns on me, as I stand outside in the parking lot, that I’ve lived here for more than six months and I’m not in any way familiar with this place. I decide to make this lunch break my time to go exploring and get some fresh air in my system. It’ll help to clear my thoughts, and maybe I can get some ideas on where I want to live when I move my stuff out of the house Matthew and I used to share.

Even though it’s not yet spring, the air isn’t too cold. I keep my coat zipped up, but my hands out of my pockets and my face turned up to the sun. I walk down the Magnificent Mile and smile at people passing me by, and then make it to Grant Park in about twenty-five minutes.

I know enough about Chicago to know it’s not tourist season, so the area surrounding the famous Bean isn’t crowded. It’s just a huge, mirrored fixture shaped like a bean, but I can’t help but be amazed by it just like everyone else who comes to see it. The reflection of the city, bent topsy-turvy, looks back at me as I stare into it. Suddenly, I feel very small.

I press my hands to its cold surface and just stare at myself; my shock of auburn hair, my ruddy cheeks, my dark green coat. It feels like I’m looking at someone who looks a lot like me, but isn’t me at all.

It’s a feeling that should scare me, but it doesn’t. Maybe I don’t recognize her for a reason. Maybe, instead of looking at my shift into someone I don’t recognize as a bad thing - I should see it as a stepping stone. I’m evolving. I moved across the country and I changed. I realized what I wanted - or, rather, _who_ I wanted - and I changed because of it. Jackson changed me.

For the first time, I’m realizing that those changes are for the better.

I like the bewildered, grinning face looking back at me. I love her; even with tears streaming down her face standing in public, looking a bit manic. Because that’s me. And I will never apologize for that.

I won’t ever shrink myself to fit someone else’s vision - that’s not how marriage works. No matter how much I thought Matthew loved me, he’ll never respect me on the same level that Jackson does. Jackson accepts the differences between us and together, we mold them into a working relationship. Our differences are what makes us, us.

I pull my hands away from the Bean and wipe away my tears. I sniffle loudly and then shake my hair out of my face; Chicago is called The Windy City for a reason and I can barely see with it flying everywhere, so I tie it up in a messy ponytail and walk towards the lake.

When I get to Navy Pier, I skip the tourist attractions and walk to the very end of the structure. I’m the only person out here, and the deafening wind drowns out any thoughts that might have accompanied me. I stand at the edge, my hands gripping the guardrail with all I’ve got, and stare out into the wavy, inky-blue water.

Again, I start to cry.

Change has always been hard for me, but I’m not scared this time. Not of what’s happened, not of who I’ve become, not of the little girl inside me - the life we’ve created. I’m not scared of any of it. I’m not scared of what’s to come, because I know the person I’ve grown into can handle it.

I’ve handled everything in my life thus far. I’m strong enough to take whatever comes at me, and teach my daughter to do the same.

A smile splits my face in two as my tears keep coming, and then I feel a soft tap on my shoulder. “Excuse me, miss?” I look over and see a middle-aged woman with a man who must be her husband next to her. “Are you okay? Did you lose something?”

I close my mouth and press my lips tightly together - still smiling. “No,” I say, shaking my head and not bothering to wipe away my tears. “I found it.”

***

I get back to the hospital and bluster through the doors, out of breath at this point. I head up to the floor where I spend most of my time, and ask Greg where he last saw Jackson - and he says heading up to the nursery.

I take off my outer gear and toss it in my locker, then follow in Jackson’s footsteps. Once I get to the maternity ward, I’m not disappointed by what I see. Jackson is standing in front of the viewing window, his forehead mere centimeters away from the glass, smiling and waving at the babies inside. I stand and watch him for a moment, just marveling at what an amazing father he’ll be, and then walk over to him.

I stand for a moment before he notices me, but when he sees me he looks surprised. I speak before he can, saying, “I thought you didn’t want anything more to do with babies.”

“Yeah, I’m not really sure why I’m up here,” he says, and I know that he’s lying. He looks much too comfortable to not come here often.

I touch my stomach. “Did you do the test?” I ask. I had given it to he and Matthew yesterday, and I already have the sample back from Matthew. Once Jackson gives me his, I can send it in along with my vial of blood and have the results that much quicker.

“Yeah. Put it in your locker.”

I can tell he’s holding back, because I am, too. I’m not sure how to go about telling him everything that I’ve realized. How can you tell someone that you’re so blindingly in love with them that you can’t think of anything else? “Okay, thanks,” I say, and I wish I knew how to say more.

“When will you have the results?” he asks.

“Nine days or so,” I say, then glance up at him. He stays staring into the room full of babies. “I’ll mail it out later today. I can’t believe it’s $70 just for shipping.”

It’s going to cost me over a thousand once everything is said and done. I can come back from it, but that big of a charge is definitely a blow to my budget.

“I told you I’d help pay. And I’m sure if you asked Ma-”

I already know what he’s going to say, and I’m not up for it. “I’m not asking either of you to do that,” I snap. “I won’t do that. No.”

“April, it’s almost a thousand dollars for this thing, and-”

“I can do it myself,” I say insistently. “I’m gonna fix this. The money doesn’t matter, I’ll make it work. I’ll… I’ll make it work.” At that point, I’m telling myself more than him. But that’s okay.

“Where are you staying now?” he asks, changing the subject.

I wondered when he would ask this. I shrug, and ignore the urge to look at him. “The house. But probably not for long. I’m working on packing up my stuff.”

“With that belly?” he asks, and I recognize a quality in his voice that I haven’t heard in awhile. Lightheartedness. Fun.

“It’s not that big yet,” I say, jumping to my own defense. “I can do most stuff. I’m a capable person, it’s not like-”

“I wasn’t saying you weren’t capable, breathe,” he says, and I feel bad for jumping down his throat. I’m used to defending myself in that respect with Matthew and old habits are hard to break. Especially when it hasn’t been that long at all. “Hey, wanna see my favorites?” Jackson asks, meaning the babies. I nod. “Her on the far right. She made it all the way out of her blanket.”

I follow his eyes and see a tiny, pale baby girl who’s wriggling like her life depends on it. “She must be cold,” I say.

“And her, right next door. All snuggled up without a care in the world.”

My eyes drift away from the one fast asleep to the baby next to her, staring at the brand new world around her with wonder and confusion. “The one next to her is totally me. Staring up at the light, all confused. Doesn’t know what to make of life.” I laugh at my own joke, then touch the glass. “They’re all so cute. Do you come here a lot?” I finally meet his eyes and I’m not disappointed when I see he’s already looking at me.

“Sometimes,” he says, shrugging. “Helps me recenter my thoughts. I like watching them.”

My heart swells. I love the side of him that no one knows, and it’s showing.

We stare at each other for a long time, doing what - I’m not sure, but I’m glad for it. I haven’t had time to simply just look at him in what feels like forever, so I’m thankful for it now. His eyes drift over me and I let them; his mouth is set in a pensive expression, partnered with the creases lining his forehead. The freckles dotted across his nose, as spring gets closer, are becoming more pronounced. They’re so perfectly placed that I used to tell him that God took a paintbrush and painted them by hand - one by one.

Jackson doesn’t like God talk all that much, but he always liked it when I said that.

Right when I open my mouth to say something, he speaks instead. “I miss you,” he says, and his words surprise me. I had come here to tell him just that, but I hadn’t necessarily expected a reciprocation.

I don’t miss a beat, though. I came prepared. “I miss you more,” I say. I realize I’m crying only when I reach up and wipe a tear away.

“Can I say something and you not get mad?” he asks, and in that moment he could say absolutely anything and I don’t think I could feel upset with him. I nod. “I hope she’s mine,” he says, and his voice wobbles.

The sound that comes out of me is involuntary and full of emotion. “Jackson,” I say. “No matter what the tests say, she’s already yours.”

His eyes glisten, and I reach across and take his wrist. “April, I-” he stammers, shaking his head. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to,” I say. “Here, touch her.”

I lay his hand on my stomach and in almost the instant I do - she moves.

She kicks, for the very first time.

My eyes widen and my mouth gapes open as I look at him in wonder. “Did you feel that?” I ask, my voice rising in pitch. Almost as if on cue, she does it again. “Again! She did it again! Did you feel it?”

In the second I looked down at my stomach and then back up to his face, his eyes well up with tears. “Did she just…?” he asks.

“She kicked,” I say, and I’m crying, too. “She kicked.”

“Oh, my god,” Jackson says, flattening his hand as he feels her move more. “She’s moving. April, she’s moving.”

As I experience this moment, linked between the two most important people in my life, I already know my answer. Of course I’ll still send the tests in and prove it on paper, but for me it’s all right here. God is telling me, standing in this empty hallway in front of a slew of brand new life - that my daughter’s father has been right here, waiting, all along.

***

I'm just coming out of the OR later that night when Jackson meets me and starts walking alongside me. “Hey,” I say, sounding surprised.

“How'd surgery go?” he asks.

“Good,” I say. “We were touch and go for a little bit during the middle, but she pulled through. It was exhilarating.”

“Someone almost died, it was exhilarating!” Jackson mocks lightly, and I smack his arm.

“You know what I mean,” I say, and then stop walking once we get to the OR board. “The baby's been kicking all day since earlier. I can’t get a break.” I press a flat palm to my stomach and feel her twirl.

“She just figured it out,” Jackson says. “She's being a little show-off.” I giggle. “Hey, so I wanted to ask you something.” He messes with the binder full of charts like he's nervous, and I shift my weight over to one foot. My feet are killing me from being on them for so long. “I realized that I've never… asked you on an actual _date_. So… would you want to go on one with me? Tonight?”

I lean against the wall and watch him rub the back of his neck anxiously. “I guess I'll have to check my schedule…” I tease, and he rolls his eyes.

“I wasn't thinking anything fancy,” he says. “I know you're tired. Maybe frozen yogurt?”

My stomach growls at the thought alone. “That sounds amazing,” I say. “Let me go change.”

I took the train into work this morning to try and immerse myself in true Chicago culture, so we get in Jackson’s car and head to Forever Yogurt, which is just a little bit of a drive away. 

“How’s that seat belt fitting you?” he asks, and I scoff.

“Shut up,” I say. “Don’t make fat jokes.”

“No one called you fat,” he says, smirking as his hands skim over the steering wheel.

I let my head fall back to hit the headrest. “I feel like a whale,” I say. “But I can’t stop eating. I’m so hungry all the time. I can’t wait to get at this yogurt.”

He laughs. “I’ll alert them that you’re coming,” he says. “They might want to hide their reserves.”

We park and make our way inside the little building on State Street, and I make a beeline for the cups without wasting any time. Jackson shakes his head and watches me try and decide between a couple flavors before I settle on anything. I tap my chin and look between chocolate, vanilla and mint, and he says, “I’m paying. Get all three.”

A smile lights up my face. “Oh, big spender,” I say. “Don’t mind if I do.” I fill up my cup with yogurt and then two huge spoonfuls of cereal on top, which makes for a combination of flavors that Jackson raises his lip at once we sit down.

“Interesting choices,” he says, dipping his spoon into the classic vanilla with Oreo chunks that he got. “Mint and cereal. You couldn’t pay me to eat that.”

I pick up a big spoonful and tease him with it. “Oh, come on,” I say, and then put it in my mouth. “Oh, my god.”

“That good, huh?” he asks, chuckling.

“Oh, yeah.”

We get through half our yogurt talking about mundane things; whether it be work or the weather. There’s a long pause between us before Jackson starts talking about something much more serious.

“April, I was wrong,” he pipes up, and I’m confused as to what he’s referencing.

“What?” I ask.

He swallows. “When you told me you were pregnant. When I told you that you should get back with Matthew, it wasn’t my place to tell you what to do. It was just my first instinct, you know. I didn’t want to be that guy that split up a married couple…” He shakes his head. “I haven’t been able to get that out of my mind since it happened. I never wanted you to think I was forcing you back with him, because I’m not like that. I don’t want to force you to do anything.”

I wrap both hands around the cup of yogurt in front of me. “I didn’t see it that way,” I say. “You told me I should tell Matthew, and you weren’t wrong. You really weren’t.” He nods thoughtfully. “I didn’t get back with him all because of what you said, but it might’ve helped. I was thinking the same thing. I was going with what I knew. He and I had been married already. I was scared of what people might think, you know, if I stayed with you. He was the easier option. Life with him was what I knew.”

“I know,” he says.

“It’s what I knew, but it’s not what I wanted,” I say. “It took me too long to realize that. I’m sorry, Jackson.”

He looks down at the table. “It’s okay-”

“It’s not,” I say. “I strung you along, I was just thinking of myself.”

“It wasn’t always just you,” he says. “I wasn’t fair to you, either. There were plenty of times where we weren’t fair to each other.”

We stop talking for a moment just to look at each other. I reach across the table and wipe a bit of ice cream from the corner of his mouth with my thumb.

“I don’t want that to happen again,” I say. “I want this baby to be yours. I want to raise her with you; happy and together. It was never going to be fair to raise her in a loveless marriage with Matthew, even if she is his. Which, I don’t know yet. I can’t really say one way or the other. It hurts my brain to think about what’ll happen if...” I trail off. We both know what I mean to say.

“In nine days, we’ll know,” he says, gripping my hand across the table. “In nine days, we’ll be able to figure everything out for sure.”

“That’s too long,” I mutter. “I should’ve done this so much sooner…”

“You’re right,” he says. “But at least it’s happening now. And you already know how I feel about that baby.”

I search his eyes; mine wide and wondering. “Do you think she’s yours?” I ask.

“Don’t you?” he asks. “Can’t you feel it?”

I’ve been scared to admit it, even to myself, but I do feel something. I feel the connection between my unborn daughter and Jackson, even if I can’t quite explain it. I nod, and smirk as I feel her kick. “I think I can,” I say.

“We just have to wait,” he says. “And until then… pray, I guess.”

My face breaks out in a big smile. “God is probably so tired of hearing my voice by now,” I say, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

“I bet,” he says. “But I’m not.”

I squeeze his hand and bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from crying. I never thought I’d get him back, but I don’t think he ever left. He’s been holding onto my heart since the day we met - it’d be impossible for me to give it to anyone else.

I pray that the baby is his. Nine days can’t come soon enough.

***

On the night before the ninth day, Jackson and I are sitting in his living room with the lights low and the movie _Serena_ playing on the wall-mounted TV. I’m on the floor with my back rested against the couch, because for some reason hard surfaces have been more comfortable the last couple of days than soft ones. My hand is buried deep into a big bag of Fritos on my lap and Jackson is sitting on the couch behind me, running his fingers absentmindedly through my hair as he watches the movie.

“This is kind of intense,” I say, my mouth full. Some crumbs fall out and land on my chest, but they don’t go far. They tumble down and land on my belly, and I proceed to use it as a plate and eat the chips from it. “Serena is a little unhinged.”

“Really?” he asks, bending in half so his mouth is close to my ear. “Because I was just about to say she reminds me of you.”

“You’re so hilarious,” I say sarcastically, and reach my hand behind me so I can slap his knee.

He moves his hands from my hair down to my shoulders, where he starts to give me a nice massage. “Your muscles are really freakin’ tense,” he says, digging his thumbs in. I barely feel it; I’ve been stiff for days.

“Wonder why that could be,” I mutter under my breath, then turn my head slightly. “You know what tomorrow is.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I can’t think about anything else.”

“We should talk about it,” I say, resting the side of my head against his wrist. “About what’ll happen either way.”

“You’re right,” he says. “Probably better that way than the way we did it before.”

“No more avoiding,” I say. “That was mostly to myself, you should know.”

“No more avoiding,” he agrees.

I sigh. “Okay,” I say.

“So let’s just say she’s mine,” Jackson says. “What will you tell him?”

“The truth,” I say. “I’m sure he already knows what’ll happen if that’s the result. He’s not stupid.”

“And if it’s his? What will happen then?”

I’m quiet as I think it over, because that’s the one that stumps me. What happens if the baby is Matthew’s? “I…” I begin, then my thoughts get away from me for a second. “I guess we get lawyers. Work out a custody agreement before she’s even born.” I nod slowly at first, and then with more confidence. “It’ll just involve a lot of thinking ahead. I think we’re both mature enough for that.” I take another big handful of Fritos and dump them on my belly so I can pick from them. “What’ll _you_ do if she’s his?”

His lips fall into a straight line. “I’ll obviously be disappointed,” Jackson says. “But I’m here for you. Whatever happens.”

“Jackson, if you don’t want…”

He scoffs. “April, we’re past that. I want this. I want to be with you forever, damn it. You’re not gonna be able to get rid of me a third time.”

“That’s good,” I say. “Because I wanna be with you, too. No matter what. Damn it.”  

He replaces his hands on my shoulders. “Me and you,” he says.

“Me and you,” I repeat.

***

The next day, I try to go about my workday as normally as possible until the mail comes in. That’s when I’ll know. The package will come addressed right to me. But until then, I still have to participate in real life.

I had a chole early this morning, and now I have enough time for a snack. I scrub out and head away from the OR and towards the vending machine on this floor, where I put in my money and punch the correct numbers so I can get a bag of Fritos - my newest salty craving. I look to my left and see that Jackson is just down the hall, talking to Britton most likely about a surgery they have later.

The bag of Fritos falls from its spot and makes its way down, and then gets stuck before the lip at the bottom. “Oh, damn it,” I say under my breath, and do my best at bending. It’s not all that easy with a beach ball poking out from under my shirt, but I really want these stupid chips.

I’m making all sorts of sounds and struggling to get my hand at the right angle when I feel a soft touch on my shoulder. I think it’s Jackson until I hear the voice that pairs with it. “Need some help?”

I look up and see Matthew standing there, dressed in his EMT uniform. I widen my eyes in surprise not only because I haven’t seen him since I gave him the test, but also because he’s offering to help me. We had so much animosity between us for our last conversation, so this is the last thing I’d expect.

“Please,” I say, and he extends a hand to help me up from the floor. I stand and watch him get on his knees and slip his hand up into the machine in just the right way to grab the bag from where it got stuck.

He hands it to me after standing and brushing himself off. “You always hated Fritos,” he says, eyeing both the chips and me as I pop the bag open.

“Yeah, well, the baby loves them now,” I say, putting one in my mouth. We both laugh awkwardly, and then a strained silence follows.

He takes a deep breath and says, “April, you tried for me. And I appreciate that. But…” My face screws up in confusion as Matthew glances in Jackson’s direction, where he still stands talking seriously with his colleague. “It was always him, wasn’t it?”

His words are like a blow to the stomach. They’re so raw and stripped that tears spring to my eyes and it’s impossible to be anything but truthful in return. “I wanted to love you so badly in the way you needed me to,” I say. “You’re a good man, Matthew.”

He smiles self-deprecatingly, only one corner of his mouth twitching upwards. “Am I, though?” he asks.

“I think so.”

He wrings his hands together. “I haven’t been acting like one.”

I shake my head slowly. “It wasn’t….you,” I say. “It was me. No, it was us. We weren’t it, Matthew. What we thought we were, we just weren’t.” I sigh. “I know one thing for sure. If this baby is yours, I know you’ll be a great father. She’ll be a lucky little girl.”

“She’s already lucky,” he says, surprising me. “She has you.”

I chew the inside of my lip and finally feel closer to being at peace with how we left things. I’m about to respond when I hear my name called from the nurses’ station, and I look over to see that the mail has come in and my manila envelope is waiting right there for me, addressed and stamped.

“Oh,” I say, and my eyes dart to Matthew.

Suddenly Jackson appears at my side and follows my eyes to see the envelope waiting for the three of us, right there. “Are you ready for the results, corn chip?” he asks, and his pinky wraps subtly around mine before any of us makes a move to grab it.

He turns his head to see Matthew standing there and his face goes through a multitude of expressions. From confused, to dubious, to straight-faced and unreadable; he’s got it all.

“I’m ready,” I say quietly. “Are you? Both of you?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Matthew mutters, and Jackson mirrors his sentiment.

I pick up the envelope and note how light it is. I tell myself that it’s a good thing, though I know the weight plays no role whatsoever in the results. I prayed so much last night; it was a given that I wasn’t going to be able to sleep, so I tried to use my time wisely. I know that God was listening, but I’m not sure how much control He has over the situation now that it’s in such late stages.

I prep my finger at the lip of the envelope, ready to tear it open. I take in a cleansing breath, close my eyes, and rip it. Once it’s open, I feel the tension settling on my shoulders like a shawl of discomfort, waiting to either lift or suffocate me. I’ll find out momentarily.

I pull the sheets of paper out and stare down at them, needing some time to make sense of the letters and symbols before I can read them as actual words. After a few clarifying moments, I read it out loud even though my voice shakes.

“For all involved persons, participant information forms completed by the sampler and photographs were attached. Furthermore, we received copies of ID documents. Copies of supporting documents are attached.” I take in a deep breath and try to stop my knees from wobbling. I haven’t even gotten to the important part yet.

“DNA isolation was carried out separately for all samples. Genetic characteristics were determined by the following PCR-single-locus-technology analysis.”

I flip over the sheet and see a chart with four columns on it; one for me, one for Jackson, one for Matthew, and one for the baby girl. I skim over it; the conclusion will be written below and I don’t think my brain can comprehend the proof of information gathered here. At least not right now.

“In all analyzed PCR systems, Mr. Jackson Avery does show the genetic markers which have to be present for the biological father of Baby Girl Kepner. The biostatistical analysis of the PCR systems was performed according to the method of Essen-Moller. The probability of Mr. Jackson Avery being the biological father of Baby Girl Kepner is greater than 99.9999%.”

My chest is heaving, but I’m not finished reading yet. “In conclusion. Based on our analysis and biostatistical evaluation of the results, it is practically proven that Mr. Jackson Avery is the biological father of Baby Girl Kepner. The genetic data is in accordance with April Kepner being the biological mother of Baby Girl Kepner.”

My eyes skim the page up and down before looking at either of the men standing in front of me. When I raise my head up, Jackson’s eyes are bright and glistening. Matthew looks stoic, but not angry. Before Jackson says anything to me, he turns to the man beside him and gauges his reaction; and surprisingly, Matthew sticks out his hand for Jackson to shake.

Once their hands separate, Matthew nods and inhales deeply. “All the best to the both of you,” he says. And with a curt smile, he turns and walks away.

Jackson and I stand in silence for a long moment, letting what just happened sink in. When we turn to look at each other, we’re both wearing manic grins and tears are streaming down my cheeks. He wraps his arms around me, lifts my feet off the ground, and hugs me as tight as he can. “She’s mine,” he says, sounding incredulous. When he sets me down, he keeps his arms wrapped around the small of my back and then kisses me for the first time in forever. There’s so much feeling behind it; relief, passion, and love, that I feel like I might explode. “She’s mine,” he says again. “You’re mine.”

“I don’t know what to say,” I sob, and he rests his forehead against mine and rubs our noses together. “I’m so happy.” I wipe my cheeks hastily with the backs of my hands. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he says, kissing me again with just as much passion. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

***

**2.5 MONTHS LATER**

**JACKSON**

I’m woken up in the middle of the night to the mattress shifting with April’s tossing and turning next to me, At first, I keep my eyes closed and try to ignore her as I hope she falls back to sleep, but her movements don’t stop.

“April,” I murmur under my breath, and she kicks the covers off forcefully.

“It’s too damn hot in this room,” she complains, and lies still on her back. It’s the middle of June, and the baby is due in the beginning of next month. “We should’ve thought about this before I got pregnant. Whose idea was it for me to be this huge in the summer? And when did it become a thing that Chicago gets this hot?”

“The air is down to 60,” I tell her. I’m currently wrapped up tight in the covers wearing a long sleeved shirt and pants, which is very unlike me. I usually like to sleep in as little clothes as I can.

“Doesn’t matter,” she says.

“And if I could remind you, we didn’t think of _anything_ when you got pregnant,” I say, my eyes still closed.

“Chicago still shouldn’t be this hot,” she spits. “It’s so hot. It’s stupid hot.”

I finally open my eyes and see her lying there staring up at the ceiling. Her hair is stuck to her sweaty forehead and she’s not wearing much at all - only a tiny pair of drawstring shorts and a sports bra. It’s hard to find her in much else these days when we’re at home.

I get up out of bed and traipse over to the closet. She calls out, “Where are you going?”

“Finding the fan,” I call back, and I can’t hear what she says next.

We moved from my apartment downtown to a house in Wicker Park only about a month ago, and I still have no clue where some things are. We agreed, after about a week together in the apartment, that it wasn’t the best place to raise a child. There wasn’t much discussion needed - we were both ready to move and start over in a place where we could make brand new memories together.

We’re still working on getting this place set up for a baby. The nursery is painted and somewhat furnished, but still needs a lot of finishing touches. It’s to the point where if the baby came tomorrow it wouldn’t be a disaster, but in April’s mind where everything needs to be perfect, it probably would classify as one.

She spends a lot of her time in there hanging up photos, folding tiny clothes, and arranging things just the way she likes. My next task in that room is to piece together the rocking chair without impaling myself or creating some weapon of torture out of it. That’s for next weekend.

I dig around for the oscillating fan and pull it out of the closet, then lug it back into our room. I plug it in on her side of the bed and it blows the air right into her face, trying its best to unstick her hair from her face, and she lets out a sigh of relief. “Bless you,” she says, and then throws her arms above her head to rest on the pillow.

I lay back down and am just drifting off again when I hear her voice. “I still can’t sleep,” she whispers.

“April,” I say, completely deadpan.

“I think we should pick a name,” she says.

“Right now?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“We’ve talked about this before. You always say you’re not ready. And you pick now, at…” I roll over and look at the alarm clock next to me. “3:14am, to be ready?”

“One of these days she’s gonna come,” she insists. “My due date is in two weeks. She could literally come any day now. And I don’t want her to come into this world without a name.”

I sit up against the headboard, bringing the covers with me, and turn my bedside light on. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it. Is the baby name book over there?”

“Yeah,” she says, hands splayed over her belly.

“Are you gonna grab it?” I ask.

She looks at me with eyebrows raised. “Can you?” she asks angelically. “I can’t really reach all that great, and…”

“Okay, okay,” I say, and lean over her with the top half of my body to grab the book that’s on the floor below her. She knows I’m at her beck and call - and only sometimes does she take advantage of that. I sit up with the book on my lap open to the first dog-eared page, and see the name that’s highlighted is ‘Simone.’

“Simone,” I say. “We apparently liked that one.”

“Eh,” she says, drumming her fingers. “I don’t love it now.”

“Me, neither,” I say, and turn the page. “Kyla.” I shake my head. “No.”

“You don’t like Kyla?” she asks. “Oh, okay.”

“Sienna?”

“Sounds like a crayon,” she says, and I laugh.

“I think you’re thinking of Burnt Sienna.”

“Even worse!” she says. “You handle enough burn patients as it is. We don’t need our daughter joining them.”

I lean over and kiss her on the temple, then lay my head next to hers on her pillow and rest my hand on the baby bump. “Baby’s asleep,” she whispers.

“You should be, too,” I say, my lips moving against the side of her eyebrow.

“Mmm, I wish it was that easy,” she says. “Plus, now we need to pick a name before I even think about sleeping.”

I hand her the book and keep my head on her shoulder as she flips through it. “Serena,” she offers.

“Tennis player,” I say. "And that one movie. Unhinged, remember?" 

"Oh yeah," she says, and continues to turn the pages. “Nova,” she says.

“Nova?” I ask. “Like Villanova?”

“Not like Villanova, you idiot,” she says, laughing while turning the book upside down on her chest. “It means ‘new.’ Like new baby.”

“Like supernova,” I say, and she busts up in giggles again. “Like a black hole.”

“No, no!” she says, then gasps. “Oh, I woke her up. She’s spinning.” She takes my wrist and puts my hand back on her belly. “Feel her?”

“Hi, in there,” I say. “Little no-name.”

“Don’t tell her that,” April says. “Now, thanks to little acrobat, I’ll never get back to sleep.”

“You weren’t going to in the first place, don’t kid yourself. Keep looking for names,” I say.

She lets out a long sigh and sits up as best as she can, using her belly as a place to rest the book as she looks in it. She traces her finger down a page full of L names, and then stops. “Wait, how about this?” she asks. “Lorraine.”

“Lorraine,” I turn the name over in my head and then said it out loud again. “Lorraine. I’ve never heard another little kid with that name, that’s for sure.”

“It’s classic,” April says. “We could call her Rae.”

Something inside me lights up. We’ve discussed baby names now and again for the past couple weeks, but nothing has stuck. For some reason, this name makes her feel real. I can see our little girl coming into this world as little Rae.

“Sweet Baby Rae,” I joke. “Like the barbecue sauce.”

“Even better,” April giggles, and turns on her side as best she can. “What do you think? Do you like Lorraine?”

I move her hair out of the way and kiss her; long and lasting. “I really do,” I say. “I love it.”

“Me, too,” she says, then touches her belly. “I think we got a name for you, little bug. How does Lorraine sound to you? Are you gonna be our little Rae?” April looks back up at me with shiny eyes, and whispers, “She says she’s not too sure about it yet.”

I bend a little bit and kiss the side of her stomach. “Well, we’ll help you get used to it when we see you,” I say, then stroke her soft skin with my thumb.

“Hopefully you won’t wait much longer, little lady,” April says, situating again. “Unless you want me to burst.” Her eyebrows raise like she got an idea. “What about a middle name?” she asks me.

“I have an idea,” I say, referencing the one I’ve been thinking about for a few days now. “How about Elise?”

She smiles, reaching to hold my chin in her first two fingers. “That’s my middle name,” she says sweetly. “It means ‘oath of God.’”

“I know that,” I say. “I think she should have it, too. Don’t you?”

She shifts closer to me and kisses me, then runs her warm hand beneath my shirt to rest on my side. “If you do, I do,” she whispers, her lips moving against mine. “Lorraine Elise.”

“Lorraine Elise,” I repeat, and press my lips to the corner of her mouth, her jaw, and then finish on her neck. “Go to sleep, baby mama.”

“You’re gonna kiss me like that, then tell me to go to sleep?” she pretend-whines. “What a tease you’ve become.”

I chuckle and reach over to turn the light off, then spoon April from behind as she’s flipped to face away from me. We close our eyes with my hand resting over our baby and her hand resting over mine, and it doesn’t take her long at all to fall asleep.

***

Three weeks and two days later, April is pacing between the kitchen to the front door at a breakneck pace like a trapped zoo animal.

“I think, when the doctor said that walking can stimulate labor, she meant walking _outside_ ,” I say, standing at the island as I chop cucumbers for a summer salad that she taught me how to make. We’re planning on having it for lunch.

“Jackson,” she says, her voice carrying from the front door as she makes her way back to me. “This baby is more than a week late. If I go into labor on the sidewalk, what do you suggest that we do?”

I slice the last of the cucumber and dump them into a clear bowl where the rest of the ingredients are already mixed together. “Call an ambulance,” I say. “Just like if you went into labor right here.”

She stops at the island and picks a cucumber out of the salad. “I don’t need the neighbors witnessing that,” she says. “I’m fine walking around the house.”

“You need some fresh air anyway,” I say. “We’ve been cooped up in this house waiting for days. We need to get out and remind your pale ass skin that the sun exists.”

She snorts. “Hey!”

“Just stating facts,” I say.

“Okay, fine,” she says. “But I’m starving. I’ll only go on a walk with you if I can eat this salad first.”

“Deal.”

We sit down at the table and, with the wind blowing in pleasantly from the open windows, have a nice lunch together. “I’m so impressed by you,” she says. “Who ever thought that you’d learn to cook?”

“Don’t give me too much credit,” I say. “I just mixed stuff together.”

“It’s a start,” she says, then sighs. “I should thank you. You’ve done so much the past few weeks. I promise I’ll pay you back somehow.”

I shake my head. “April… April, no.”

“What?” she asks, chewing a very leafy bite.

“You don’t have to pay me back. We’re partners, we’re in this together. We’re starting our family - this is how it’s supposed to be. When you need me, I support you. And the other way around. You’ll get your chance to be my backbone, too.”

She shakes her head. “I doubt it,” she says.

“I like doing things for you,” I say, brushing a small piece of spinach off the corner of her mouth. “It makes me happy.”

“Good,” she sighs. “Because I’ve been pretty incapable. You’ve done, like, everything.”

It’s true - for the last week and a half she’s been pretty indisposed. Her belly is so huge and she’s so uncomfortably swollen and stiff that it’s hard for her to do much of anything in preparation for the baby besides sit on some sort of cushion and boss me around.

But the nursery is finished now. Whenever Rae decides to finally come out, everything is all set up for her. The walls are pink, the white furniture is all put together, and every picture we wanted is hung up on the wall. It finally reached April’s standards about a week ago, and those are high standards to meet.

After lunch, she puts on her flip-flops because those are the only shoes that will accommodate her swollen feet, and we head outside for a walk around the block. The air is hot but not humid, and there’s a nice breeze flowing through Wicker Park. It’s a nice day, and I’m glad we’re getting to experience it.

April waddles along beside me, looking around at the tall, skinny houses on our street. As she walks with all of her weight thrown behind her, she rests one hand on the top of her belly and the other on the small of her back for support. I’ve never seen her look more uncomfortable.

As we round the corner, she stops dead in her tracks. “Jackson…. Jackson,” she says, and I look back and see that her eyes are wide. “I think she’s coming.”

“Wait, what?” I hurry over to her and hold her shoulders in my hands. “We have to get back to the house, god, I’m so sorry I made you come out here. I didn’t think it’d actually - okay. Let me think, let me think. Can you make it? Do you want me to… I don’t know, carry you?”

She bursts out laughing before I can say anything else, and then stands up straight again. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she says, pushing on my chest. “I just had to get you. I’m sorry. That was so mean.”

I scowl at her. “You annoy me,” I say.

“ _You_ annoy _me_!” she repeats. “Making me come out here on this hot day and sweat my face off. I blame you for any and all sunburn.”

“It’s called sunscreen,” I say. She mimics me in a high-pitched, nasally tone. “Okay, my voice doesn't even sound like that,” I chuckle.

“To me, yes it does,” she says. “You did this to me. You know that, right?” She points at her belly. “This is all because of you and your super sperm.”

“I’m begging you to never say that again,” I say.

She laughs, but shoves me. We’re on the way back to the house now, on the tail end of the block. When we get back inside, she plops down on the couch and fans herself with one hand, and I say, “We could shut the windows and turn on the air, you know.”

“I like the wind,” she says. “I like the way it smells.”

“You like the way Chicago smells,” I say. “That’s a new one. Never heard someone say that before.”

“I’m not just anyone,” she says, smirking.

“You’re right,” I say, then go to sit next to her.

“Jackson,” she mutters, her head thrown back so I can see her throat move when she speaks. “I really, really want this baby out of me.”

“I know,” I say. During the appointment we went to on her actual due date, the OB said that Rae was positioned just fine and was very comfortable where she was. They said they’d like to keep her inside as long as she was still fitting properly, and would only induce two weeks after the initial due date passed. That day is four days from now.

But luckily we don’t even have to wait that long. In the middle of the night just a few hours later, April goes into labor.

Her water breaks when she’s awake at 2am, pacing as usual. I’m lying there awake, too, unable to get back to sleep with her constant, fervent movement. “You’re always gonna be a pain in my ass, aren’t you?” I ask sleepily, and then laugh. But she doesn’t laugh. “April, I’m kidding,” I say, and notice that her movement has stopped, so I sit up to see what’s going on.

Her face is as white as a sheet and she’s patting her crotch with her hands. “Well, there’s about to be another pain in your ass,” she says. “Jackson, she’s coming.”

“Ha, ha,” I say, then flop back down. “I’m not falling for that again. Fool me once-”

Quick as a flash, she’s next to my side of the bed and yanking my arm from where it lies beside me to force my hand on her thigh. “Feel that?” she asks. “That’s my water. I’m not joking. We…” She takes in a gasp of breath, which makes the tendons on her neck stand out. “I’m in labor. We should go.”

I hurry out of bed and tell her to sit down, that I’ll gather everything we’re going to need. I get the bag that we’ve had packed for weeks now, shoes, chargers, and other odds and ends. I throw on acceptable clothes and help her into new pants, and then do my best to both quickly and safely get her out the door and into the car.

She’s calm throughout the whole thing after she realizes that it’s happening. In the car, she works on deep breathing and I work on not crashing - trying my best to look at the road when all I want to be doing is looking at her. We make it to the hospital nearest us that we’ve been planning on going to, and it isn’t Northwestern Memorial. We walk through the doors of St. Elizabeth's Hospital and are taken right to the family birth place. It’s all happening so fast.

April isn’t scared through any of it. She just keeps a tight hold on my hand and squeezes harder that I thought possible for her when it comes time to push. Not once does she tell me she can’t do this, not once does she falter. She persists; and I see the perseverance in her eyes that she wants nothing more than to see this through.

Only about two hours pass before I’m looking into the face of my brand new daughter.

April is crying; her face is shiny with tears and sweat, but to me she’s never looked more beautiful. After I cut the cord and the midwife sets our crying baby on her mother’s chest, I lean over and kiss April’s forehead and only then do I realize that I’m crying, too.

“She’s here,” April says. “She’s finally here.”

I stroke her hair back and spend a few minutes without speaking, just simply being with the both of them. When they take our baby to clean her up and weigh her, April and I have a few seconds before we see her again where I sit on the bed and hold her.

“You’re amazing,” I say, and I feel her nod against me.

“I could’ve told you that,” she says tiredly.

When Lorraine gets handed back to us, wrapped up tight in a blanket just like the babies I used to watch from the viewing window, she’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. She has a good amount of dark hair, and her skin is the most perfect shade of warm, light brown - a mixture of the both of us.

“Look at her,” April says, cradling the baby close. “We made her. Hi, sweet Lorraine.”

Her words sink in with me as I stare in wonder at this tiny being that we’ve just met. Lying here in her mother’s arms is a brand new life that the both of us created - all on our own. I can barely wrap my mind around it. Around her.

“Do you wanna hold her, daddy?” April asks, and it takes me a second before I realize that she’s talking to me. I’m a father. I’m this tiny little life’s father.

“Yeah,” I breathe, and April carefully exchanges Lorraine from her arms to mine. I look down into her face, and watch as her eyes and mouth both open in succession as she yawns.

“Oh, man,” April whispers, her head resting against my arms. “She has your eyes.”

I shake my head a little. "All babies have blue eyes," I remind her, taking one finger to stroke her forehead.

"Yeah," April says. "But...they're gonna be yours." 

I giggle softly. “Hi, Rae,” I say, then bring our faces together so I can nuzzle her cheek with the tip of my nose, just like I always do with April. “We’ve been waiting a long time for you.”

For the last five years of my life, I’ve done my fair share of waiting. I waited for April even when I told myself I wouldn’t anymore; I was waiting for April even when I convinced myself that I had given up on her. I don’t regret a single moment of it, though, because I stayed and she came back, and she showed me that something this perfect is worth waiting for.

I know perfection doesn't really exist. It’s an impossible standard that somehow we always strive for; but when that little girl grips my finger and her mother smiles at me like I hung the moon, I know I'm as close as I can get.


	13. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the official end to the story that I've become so attached to over the last few weeks! Thank you everyone for reading, and I promise you'll see me again here really soon. 
> 
> Also - forgive me for this.

**TWO AND A HALF YEARS LATER**

**APRIL**

The sun is barely rising, but I’m awake in our quiet house before anyone else on this November morning. I’m standing on the back patio with a cup of coffee nestled between my palms, just watching the sunrise and the earth come to life.

Once the sun is up in the sky and it’s close to 7am, I walk back inside and pass the pictures hanging on the wall leading down the basement stairs. I take a moment to look at them, smiling softly as my eyes graze over mine and Jackson’s wedding photo right in the middle. I’m in a poofy, strapless dress and we each have one arm around each other’s waists with our free hands both holding the handle to a wagon that 8-month-old Rae was sitting up and smiling in.

I set my mug down on the black countertop and get out the ingredients I need to make breakfast, and it doesn’t take long before I hear little footsteps on the stairs. “Hi, mama!” I hear, and turn around to see Rae standing in the entryway to the kitchen, dragging her blanket behind her.

“Hi, sunshine,” I say, and walk over to pick her up. I run my fingers over her baby hairs and then squeeze the two puffs on top of her head, kissing her forehead as I go along. “Morning, baby. Sleep good?”

“Uh-huh!” she says enthusiastically.

“Are you hungry?” I ask, and she nods vigorously. With her on my hip, I slice up some apples and hand them to her as she finishes them while I cook us both a real breakfast. After we’re both full, she wriggles to get down from her high chair and then points in the direction of the stairs.

“Daddy?” she asks. “Time for Daddy to get up?”

I glance at the clock and see that it’s just past 8. “Give him a little while longer, honey,” I say, cleaning up the dishes. “Daddy’s been very tired. He needs his rest.”

She pokes out her lower lip and then plops to her butt on the floor. “Want Daddy,” she says.

“I know,” I say. “Soon. Why don’t we get you changed, then see where we’re at, okay?” She halfheartedly agrees, but smiles and giggles when I swoop her up in my arms. We walk up the stairs, past the still-dark and closed-up master bedroom, and into her room.

We’re still working on potty-training, but she’s been doing very well lately. Overnights are still hard, though, so I change her out of her wet pull-up and then into a fresh one, along with a cute little outfit for the day. Jackson has definitely pushed his style off onto her; today she’s got on hot pink leggings and a cozy gray sweatshirt that matches the cloud cover that’s started to take over the city, covering the sun that I watched come up.

“We get Daddy now?” she asks, and I look at the clock. He needs his sleep, but it’s not too early anymore.

“Okay,” I say. “Let me go in and wake him up gentle, alright? Then you can come in.” She nods and sits against the wall outside of our bedroom, and I push the door open gently. “Hi, baby,” I say softly. “It’s me. I’m coming in.” I shut the door behind me and squint through the darkness; the blackout curtains make it hard for me to see anything, but once Jackson started getting his headaches, we needed them.

I sit down on the edge of the bed near him and take one of his hands onto my lap and hold it with both of mine. He’s cold, which isn’t unusual. “Good morning,” I say gently, and lean down to kiss his forehead.

He’s not easy to wake up anymore. He used to be the light sleeper between us, but now that’s changed. “Rae-Rae’s wanting you bad this morning,” I say, running the backs of my fingers down his cheek. He hasn’t begun to stir yet, but the nurse tells me that he can always hear me. It just takes him a while to come to the surface. “It’s a beautiful day outside. I was thinking, if you’re up for it, we could get your chair out and head to the park after Cara comes.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, and I feel myself perk up. “There you are,” I say, skimming my palm over his head. “I know a little girl who’s very excited to see her daddy.”

His eyes blink open and they’re foggy at first, but I’m used to it by now. It takes a few blinks for him to become oriented with his surroundings, and when I feel his grip tighten on my hands I feel overwhelming relief that I have him for another morning.

“Hi, honey,” I say, kiss his cheek.

“Hey,” he says, his voice gravelly.

“How did you sleep?” I ask.

He shifts uncomfortably. By the look in his eyes, I can tell he’s in pain today, probably because he hasn’t had his meds yet. “Fine,” he says.

“Cara will be here soon,” I reassure him. “But Rae wants to see you first, if that’s okay.”

He nods stiffly, and I stand up from the bed to go open the bedroom door. Rae looks up at me excitedly when she hears it come open, and I give her a little nod. “Be gentle with Daddy,” I remind her, though she already knows.

“Daddy’s tired,” she tells me, and walks in slowly. Jackson musters up his strength and sits up against the headboard, and reaches his arms out for his daughter.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, and she climbs onto his lap and wraps herself around him. With her head on his chest and her arms around his neck, they practically turn into one person from how close she gets. “Hi, lovebug,” he says, his voice warming up. “So cuddly this morning.”

“Think she missed you,” I say, watching from a few feet away.

“I’m sorry I slept for so long yesterday,” he says, looking into Rae’s eyes as she pulls her head back.

“You were extra tired, Mama said,” Rae says, bringing her hands up to Jackson’s face and resting them on his cheeks.

In the next instant, the doorbell rings. “Oh, that must be Cara,” I say. “I’ll go get her. Be right back.” I trot down the stairs and let myself have a moment to recover once I get to the bottom, with my hand on the doorknob. When I open it, the nurse stands there dressed like any other person on the street, but holding her medical bag as usual.

“Hey, April,” she says, stepping inside. Her shoes are the only other nurse-like thing about her; they’re stark white. “How is he this morning?”

I glance up the stairs, where I can still hear the soft rise and fall of my husband and daughter’s voices. “He’s okay,” I say. “He’s in a little bit of pain, I think. After you left yesterday… he was super knocked out. Slept for the rest of the day.”

She nods. “That’s normal.”

“I thought so, it just…” I stare down at the dark hardwood in the foyer. “It scared me. He was so deeply asleep.”

“I know that can be upsetting. But in situations like his, fatigue is natural. It can be really scary, but it’s not unusual.”

I nod and chew on the inside of my cheek. “You can go on up,” I say. “I’m right behind you. Rae’s in with him now. I’ll get her out before you get him all his…” I let myself trail off, neither of us needs me to finish.

“Rae-Rae,” I say, opening the door again. “Say bye-bye to Daddy, you’ll see him in a little bit. Nurse Cara is just gonna do her checkups on him, and then he’s ours for the rest of the day. How about you come into my bathroom and play on your iPad while I take a shower?”

She scampers away from Jackson’s side off of the bed, and I see him give a curt nod to Cara. “I’ll be out in a few,” I say, once Rae is out of earshot in pursuit of her iPad. “Do you think we could get to the park today?” I ask, though I’m not sure if the question is directed more toward Cara or Jackson.

“How’s your pain?” she asks him.

“Better once you hand over those meds,” he says, attempting to joke. “I’ll be fine. We can go to the park, babe. I know Rae wants to.”

“She does,” I say. “She always does. But if you’re not feeling up to it, we won’t.”

“I want to,” he says. “We will. Just let me get me get all numbed up while you get even prettier, and we can go. Okay?”

“Okay,” I say, and then give him a tiny wave as I disappear into my bathroom where Rae sits in the empty tub, her iPad on full display in front of her as she rewatches clips from _Moana_. She doesn’t look up at me as I undress and get in the shower, and I’m glad that she’s so entranced in her show so she doesn’t hear me try and keep my sobs as silent as I can.

I only let myself cry for a couple minutes before I do what I actually came in the shower to do and then step out, all fresh and clean. With a towel wrapped around my body, I plant a kiss on the top of my daughter’s head and then run a brush through my hair and throw on a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

I go back out into the bedroom to see that the curtains are opened slightly and Jackson is in the middle of getting dressed, pulling a shirt on over his head with a certain degree of difficulty. I hurry over to him and help him through, trying my best not to even so much as glance down at his chest that’s become sunken in the past year.

“I can make you breakfast,” I say, watching him slowly put socks on.

“I’m not really hungry,” he says. “But thanks.”

“You should eat something,” I say.

“April, if I’m hungry, I’ll eat,” he says, snapping.

“Okay,” I say submissively. “Are you sure you feel good enough to go?”

“I want to come with you,” he says. “I don’t want to miss out on this. I’m only going to see so much more of-”

“Stop,” I say sternly.

He looks up at me desperately from where he sits. “Why do you think Cara comes every day? To give me medicine to make me better?” he asks. “You know just as well as I do why she comes, April. It’s so I don’t feel the pain of-”

I hear my breath rattle. “Don’t talk like that,” I say. “I won’t listen to you talk like that.”

I turn around so my back is facing him, but he continues to talk. “When are you going to accept this?” he asks.

I flip back around. “Never,” I say tearfully. “How can you ask me to accept it? I can’t. I won’t.”

Suddenly, a small voice cuts in. “Why are you yelling?” Rae asks, peering around the corner.

I rush to her instantly, my arms out reassuringly. “Oh, baby, I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to yell.” I pick her up and hug her close. “Daddy’s going to come with us to the park today. Isn’t that exciting?” She squeals right into my ear, but I don’t mind. “Go get your shoes on, bug. I’ll meet you downstairs.”

I hold onto Jackson’s arm for support as he walks slowly down the stairs, and Rae is bouncing waiting for us by the door that leads to the garage. “You get in the your seat and I’ll be right there to buckle you in,” I tell her, opening the back door of the car for her. I turn to face Jackson, and say, “The chair’s in the trunk if we need it when we get there.” He nods, and I lean over Rae to clip her in tight.

The drive to the park is full of a little voice singing along to songs she knows on the radio thanks to me, and Jackson smiling softly because of it. When we get there, the sun is shining down and it’s a pleasant 60 degrees. As I unbuckle my seatbelt, he turns his head to look out the window and lets out a long sigh. “I need the chair,” he admits, and I waste no time in getting it.

I wheel it around to the passenger door, and he lowers himself down to sit. Rae unbuckles herself from her car seat and scampers over to Jackson once I lift her down, and climbs up on his lap like she always does when I push him in the wheelchair. “Chair ride!” she cheers, and he smiles and acts as her safety belt as I push them over bumpy asphalt.

When the chair can’t go any further, Rae hops out and I sit on a bench next to where I parked Jackson. “She doesn’t know any different, you know,” I say.

“I know,” he says. “That’s the problem. I wish she did.”

“What do you mean?”

He keeps his eyes on Rae as she climbs up the jungle gym and then slides down the blue plastic slide. “She deserves a dad who can get up and run and play with her,” he says. “I want to be that for her so fucking bad, April.”

“I know,” I say, defeated.

“Mommy, come play!” Rae shouts, and I look to Jackson.

“Go play with her,” he says. “For both of us.”

I get up from my spot and chase her to the monkey bars, where I watch her try and fail to get across. I glance over my shoulder and look at Jackson, who has his hands folded in his lap as he watches us do what he can’t with a mixture of a smile and a grimace on his lips.

Rae can’t remember - but trips to the park didn’t always used to look like this. After getting off work, I used to pick her up from the hospital daycare and bring her here on nice days and watch her toddle around on her chubby legs, not doing much at all except throw wood chips. Jackson would meet us here; still in his dress shirt and tie from the hospital, and walk right onto the playground and do everything with her. I never saw any other father do that with their child; they all watched from the sidelines. But not him. He’d pick up her little baby body and slide down the slide, swing on the swings; anything she wanted to do - he would do it.

Seeing him now in a totally different light is jarring. Instead of the strong, capable, sharply dressed man he was back then, he’s diminished to someone that he himself can’t recognize. I still see him for who he is, but all he sees is a weakened, sick version of himself.

We found the cancerous tumor almost a year ago, in his brain. He’d been getting insufferable headaches so badly he couldn’t see straight, and working alongside neurosurgeons has its perks.

It’s malignant and vicious. Growing and getting worse with each passing day. Gannon offered an experimental surgery, but there was more risk in dying on the table than Jackson was willing to take. Instead, he chose the hand that offered six months to a year to live.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by either of us that that year is coming to a close soon. His body has deteriorated since the diagnosis; he needs the wheelchair whenever we leave the house, he barely eats, and he sleeps most of the time. The cancer is attacking his body through his brain, and at this point there is no coming back.

He acts out of character sometimes. And though I’m fully aware it’s not his fault, it hurts all the same. Looking into his eyes and not seeing him inside is one of the hardest things that’s come with this tumor, so I always check on what kind of day he’s having before I let Rae in to greet him in the mornings. This is the only Jackson she’s ever known - the sick version of him. That breaks my heart more than I can say that she won’t ever get to know him as I knew him. As he so hoped she would know him.

We play at the park until I see Jackson nodding off where he sits, then I round Rae up in my arms and walk her back to him. He lifts his head up and blinks sleepily when he sees us, smiling as I set her down on his lap. “Time for us to head home for some lunch,” I say, and he smiles and wraps his arms around his little girl.

Rae goes down for her midday nap after lunch, alongside her father. I help them both upstairs, holding Jackson by the arm and Rae on my hip, and get them both into the master bedroom. I pull their socks off - they both hate sleeping with them on, and turn on the white noise machine. Jackson lies flat on his back and Rae curls up on her side with the bottoms of her feet pressed against his legs, and I wish I could crawl in next to them and fall asleep, too. But I won’t.

I go downstairs and, with shaking hands, compulsively clean out Rae’s hair brush. Jackson is being pulled further and further away from me every day - it seems like every time I look away and look back, he’s further gone.

I don’t know how to live this life without him in it.

In the beginning, I couldn’t come to grips with the fact that it was happening. About a week after our final consult with Gannon, I woke up from a terrible nightmare in an empty bed. I sat up, frantic, and hurried out of our room and down the stairs - only to find him on the couch in the dark with the laptop open in front of him, shining a bright light onto both Jackson and the disembodied Barbie head and shoulders doll he had on his lap.

I hadn’t said anything in question. I just walked up to him, peered around the computer screen, and saw that he was learning how to braid. “Rae’s hair is a mess and we both know it,” he says, without any prompting. I had no argument; he was right. “You should sit down, too. Learn how to do this. You’re gonna have to know how for when I’m not here anymore.”

I had been just about to sit down, but my body went rigid and I stood up straight again. “You are not dying,” I had insisted. “So stop talking like you are.”

He had looked up at me, hands poised with three separate sections of Barbie’s hair woven through his fingers, and gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. But I know that look now. It was compromise and acceptance. He knew then that he was going to die, but he wasn’t going to tell me to give up my fight.

He never has. And even if he did tell me to give up, I never would. Not on him.

But he’s fading away from me.

**JACKSON**

I don’t experience time like I used to. It either slips between my fingers faster than I can catch it, or it doesn’t pass at all. When I spend dark, heavy days in bed, I’m caught in my own sort of capsule. The world happens around me, but not _to_ me.

I spend all day in bed on the day of the first snow. Rae begs me to come look at it, she knows by now that playing with her isn’t an option, but I can’t muster the energy to get up. Even after my meds, the pain doesn’t go away.

April took a leave from the hospital when I started to deteriorate substantially. I haven’t been to work in a year, and she’s been home with me for about six months. I hadn’t wanted her to do it, but now I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t see her face every day. Sometimes, I know I’m not fair to her, but being this debilitated makes me so blindingly furious and she’s the person who always gets the brunt of that. It’s not fair to her. I know that. And that makes me even more angry.

As usual, she brings Rae in at bedtime to give me a kiss goodnight, and then gives me one herself. Her lips are soft against mine, and she gently hands me my Chapstick after she pulls away. It’s hard for me to eat and drink, so my lips get dry easily. She always notices before I do.

“I love you, daddy,” Rae peeps, sounding tired. I hug her to my side and kiss the top of her head. Instead of the puffs, I feel two braids starting at the top of her head leading down to rest on her shoulders.

“I love you, little one,” I say. “Is your hair different?”

“Mommy braided me,” she says. “It hurted but I like it.”

“Her hair’s getting long,” April says.

“You did this?” I ask her, squinting through the darkness. I turn on the bedside lamp and see two tight braids crowning our daughter’s head, done expertly. April is now putting her surgical hands to a much different use. “It looks great.”

“She was tired of the puffs,” April whispers. “Picked this off Pinterest.”

“Good choice, bug,” I say.

“Thanks, daddy,” she says. “I forgotted, did I tell you already I love you?”

I chuckle softly and lay back on the pillow. “You did, but I like hearing it again. I love you, too, Rae-Rae.”

I hear April softly sigh as she smiles. “I’ll be in soon,” she whispers, then takes Rae’s hand and leads her out of the room.

I don’t fall asleep as I lie there waiting for her, but I close my eyes and stay still. When she comes in, I hear her change into pajamas even though she’s doing her best to be quiet. The scent of her hair washes over me as she pulls back the covers and crawls in, and by the slow way she’s moving I can tell she thinks I’m asleep.

She gets close to me, pulling my right arm back so she can tuck herself close to my side. She wraps her arm around my waist and rests her head on my chest, and the trembling of her shoulders tells me that she’s crying.

I open my eyes and flatten my hand on her back, but any movement more than that is hard. “You can go,” she weeps. “If you need to. It’s not fair of me to keep you here when you’re…” She shakes her head and presses her face into my shirt.

I take in a deep, shaky breath. As the tumors grow and spread throughout my brain, they attack the things that used to come easiest for me. Everyday functions that I never used to have to think about, like breathing. Even to me, the rattling sound of it is scary. “Do you remember…” I say. “That one time we went to Fullerton beach on that day that was so goddamn hot?”

“I got burned,” she says, rubbing my chest. “You laughed at me.”

“Because I told your ass to put on sunscreen,” I say. “You’ve been a pale ginger, what - all your life? You should know this by now.”

“I like to pretend that I can handle it,” she says, and I can feel her cheeks move with a soft smile.

“You can’t forget to put sunscreen on her,” I say. “Even when she says she doesn’t need it.”

“Okay,” she says, and I hadn’t expected her to be so agreeable. “I know.”

“When we drove home that day,” I say. “On Lakeshore Drive…”

“Even though that wasn’t even the way home,” she adds.

“Made it even better,” I say. “And I was going so fast, and you were singing Signed, Sealed, Delivered at the top of your lungs.”

“You even remember what song I was singing…” she says, and I can feel her tears on my neck.

“Of course I do,” I say, flipping up the hem of her shirt so I can trace shapes on her bare side. “I remember all the windows down, you sitting there next to me in just your white shorts and green bathing suit top, one arm out the window. You had your eyes closed with your hair back in a ponytail because it was wet from going in the water. You were so happy; I could never forget the way you looked.”

She turns her head to the side and kisses my shoulder over my shirt. “I’m never going to forget anything about you,” she says. “I’m gonna tell her everything.”

“How about just the good stuff?”

She giggles sadly. “Okay, only the good stuff.”

I let out a broken sigh. “I never deserved you,” I say.

“Yes, you did,” she says firmly. “Jackson, don’t say that. Do not say that.” She lifts her head up and wipes her cheeks as I open my eyes slightly. Her eyes are glistening and her chin is trembling, but her jaw is set. “You are everything to me. Do you hear me? Everything. I don’t want anyone else but you. You deserved me, and I don’t know what God is doing now - but he blessed me enough to give me you. And… I have to tell myself that at least I had you for a little while. And that has to be good enough, even though it’s not.” She clings to me again, her back racking with sobs. “This won’t ever be good enough,” she cries. “How am I supposed to do it without you?”

I press my face into her hair, comforted by its familiar softness. Everything about her is familiar; everything about her is home. I don’t know what’s coming for me on the other side, but existing without her is hardly something I can find solace in - even if does mean my pain will end.

I know April has plenty of issues with God because she can’t understand why He’d do this to me. It’s easier for me to comprehend, thinking about it from a science perspective. Cancer happens to anyone, and I just happened to be that anyone this time. But of course, she doesn’t see it that way, and she never will. I hope, though, in my heart of hearts, that this won’t mar her relationship with God. Because it shouldn’t. I’m hoping she can find her way to forgiveness and understanding, because she deserves that and so much more.

We had so many ‘last things’ that we didn’t realize would be the last time, and I can still remember all of them so clearly. Our last surgery together, the last time we took Rae to preschool together, our last morning run, the last time we had sex. The last time we made love was this past March; we hadn’t known how fast my symptoms would show. If we had known it would be the last - would we have made it different? Every time is special, but would we have made it more memorable somehow? I’m not sure that we would’ve. We were in a bed, in love. Right where we started, just like we are now.

I hold her close until she falls asleep, my lips pressed to the top of her head and my arm wound around her back. I tell myself that if I keep her this way, morning won’t come and I’ll be lucky enough to stay like this with her forever.

Though I've spent them fading and with plenty of pain, these past few months have somehow been my happiest. Because each day begins and ends with her in bed next to me. And when my time comes - though I know it will be soon - I won't have to question what my life was for. Because I see it in her smile; it was all for April.


	14. The Soundtrack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In typical Melissa fashion, of course I put together a soundtrack of the songs that both inspire me for and remind me of AFAW. Hope you enjoy them as much as I did :)

[Somebody Else](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Y6bFk5MZ7b4) \- VERITE

[Close To You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KvUF-y2ijZc) \- Rihanna

[Jealous](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UXD52y9jsOU) \- Labrinth

[Meant](https://soundcloud.com/zachwinters/meant)\- Zach Winters

[Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I’m Yours)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBDqgSOwxkc) \- Stevie Wonder

[Instead](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UNBxN6KlATM) \- Blake McGrath

[It’s Gotta Be You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LPh-8sMy1Bc) \- Isaiah

[City Shoes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zpLTodxD2ZY) \- Victoria Canal

[New Bridge Over Deadman’s Creek](https://soundcloud.com/keeganjoyce/new-bridge-over-deadmans-creek) \- Keegan Joyce

[She Is Love](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NwrVYjJmNmo) \- Parachute

[Once in a Lifetime](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=viZaWQqkFY8) \- Landon Austin

[Goodbye My Lover](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4jAyZ4njHsc) \- James Blunt

[fOoL fOr YoU](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V5rM3CSFJgo) \- ZAYN

[143](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TI5E0FsiEkw) \- Johnny Rain

[Happier](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8TpcBDJZsJA) \- Ed Sheeran

[Afraid With You](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1TVF_P7nkr4) \- Christon Gray

[Stay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wS4InT7Ycdk) \- Rihanna ft. Mikky Ekko

[You’re Still the One](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IeeaPer8h0c) \- The Maine

[All For a Woman](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=DaMWRKRzJEk) \- The Airborne Toxic Event


	15. Outtake #1 - Mother's Day

**JACKSON**

If there’s one thing April doesn’t get to do much of, it’s sleep in. After Rae was born about ten months ago, our sleep went out the window. As surgeons, we already don’t get enough of it, and with a baby… somehow, there’s even less. 

So today, on Mother’s Day, I make sure to wake up before she does. I turn my head to the side and smile softly at her presence beside me, still so soundly asleep while lying on her belly with her arms under her pillow. She’s wearing a green camisole so I can see the freckles dotting her back, but I resist the urge to lean over and kiss them. If I touch her, it’ll wake her up. And I don’t want that.

I sneak out of our bedroom and tiptoe into Rae’s, where I see that she’s lying on her back in her crib, staring up at her mobile while rubbing her eyes. I caught her before she could cry out, which had been my intention. April’s a pretty sound sleeper, but Rae’s cry wakes her up faster than anything else. 

“Hi, beautiful,” I say, leaning over her crib. She gives me a wide smile and I lift her out, swooping her into the air. “Good morning, good morning.” I give her kisses on the cheeks, change her diaper, and hold her on my hip as I pick out something for her to wear. 

“Dada!” she shrieks, as I get her wriggly body into a yellow onesie that says ‘I Love Mom’ on it. 

“Yes?” I ask, helping her kicking legs into a pair of soft pink pants. “Yes, Rae-Rae?” 

She giggles, that wide smile of April’s present on her face, and I see that she’s cut a tooth overnight. “Are you getting a toofer?” I ask, lifting her up to get a closer look. “Look at that! He made his way through!” I touch the little tooth with the tip of my finger, and she gums it in response. 

“How about we go for a walk and let Mama sleep some more, okay?” I say, bouncing Rae after we walk into the kitchen. “She deserves to sleep in today. It’s Mother’s Day. Can you say, ‘happy mother’s day?’” 

Rae looks at me with shining green eyes and claps her hands together roughly. 

“A good college try,” I say. “Here. You sit here,” I plop her in her high chair with some Cheerios in front of her. “While Daddy gets his shoes on. I’ll be just a minute.” 

She bangs loudly on the tray while she eats, babbling nonsense while I lace up my boots. I figure I’ll just take her around the neighborhood with the baby carrier on my chest, get us out of the house, and give April some deserved peace and quiet. 

“Alright, chunk,” I say, lifting her out. She’s finished all of the Cheerios, which is what I wanted. “Let’s find you a coat, then we’re good to go.” 

The morning is bright and cheery when we step outside, and Rae kicks her legs in response to the cool breeze on her face. “If you could be any season, what would you be?” I ask her, holding her tiny hands in my own as we stroll down the sidewalk. She buzzes her lips and I giggle at her version of a response, then think up one of my own. “I think I’d be winter. Do you think I’m that cold?” She squeals. “Okay, maybe I’m an early fall. What do you think Mama would be? If you say spring, I’d have to agree with you there.” 

We walk for a good while, taking in the world as the morning opens it up. Every once in awhile, I press my lips against the soft curls on the crown of my daughter’s head and breathe her in. After we’ve circled around the neighborhood a few times, the sun is high in the sky and I’m guessing that it’s a little past 9. Rae’s going to get fussy soon if I don’t get her back to the house for a bottle, so we make our way home. 

The house is still quiet when we walk inside, so I whisper right into her ear. “Doesn’t sound like your sleepy mom’s up yet,” I say. “That’s a good thing.” 

I take Rae’s jacket off and plop her in the high chair again, pouring a bottle that she sucks on happily once I hand it to her. “I’m gonna cook some surprise breakfast for Mommy while you work on that,” I say over my shoulder, getting all the necessary ingredients for pancakes out of the fridge. “Pancakes. Plus a sweet. You know how your mom feels about sweets.” 

Rae smiles with the bottle in her mouth, and I can’t help but return it. Her happiness is so contagious; I hope she always stays this joyful. 

I turn some music on - Here Comes the Sun by The Beatles - and grin back at my daughter when the guitar starts. She bouncily sways back and forth in her chair, one fist still clutching the bottle as she dances. “I knew you’d like this one,” I say, and flick on the range.

I make three pancakes for April, complete with strawberries, confectioner’s sugar and syrup, and arrange them as nicely as I can on one of our nice white plates. From the cupboard, I pull out a plastic container of cupcakes I got at the store last night, and place one on the side of the plate. 

“Okay, I think it’s ready,” I say to Rae. “Wanna go wake her up?” 

She launches her bottle out of her hand and it slides across the hardwood floor and hits the bottom of the cupboard. 

“I’ll take that as a yes,” I say, and lift her onto my hip while precariously holding the plate as best I can in my opposite hand. We walk carefully up the stairs and I nudge open our bedroom door to find April still asleep, but lying on her back now. 

Her arms are thrown over her head as it’s turned to the side, and I just stand in the doorway for a second watching her breathe deeply. 

Rae grunts and whines, reaching her arms out because she sees her mother. “Hold on,” I murmur, setting the plate down on the dresser. “Okay, okay.” 

I walk over to my sleeping wife with our daughter wriggling in my arms, and calm her by setting her down on top of April’s ribcage. April’s eyelids twitch and flutter, and her eyebrows raise as she deeply inhales and lowers her arms from the pillow to grip Rae around the waist. 

“Well, hello there…” she murmurs, still very sleepy. “Good morning, little bug.” She looks up at me with bleary eyes and a muted smile. “Good morning, big bug.” 

I chuckle as I lean down to kiss her forehead. “Happy first mother’s day, sleepyhead,” I say, my lips against her skin. 

She grins up at me when I pull away, then watches me go and pick up the plate. “What did you do?” she asks, sitting up and setting Rae next to her. I place the plate on her lap and she beams up at me, her eyes sparkling and smile wide. “Jackson, what did you do?” 

“Made you breakfast in bed,” I say. “And it wasn’t just me. I had some moral support from this one.” 

April looks down to the baby, who’s gnawing on her own fist. “Did you help him, baby?” she asks, her voice high and squeaky. “Did you help your daddy?” She kisses the top of Rae’s head and looks back up at me. “Thank you. I didn’t expect this… you’re way too good to me.” 

“Nah,” I say, sitting down next to her. She lifts up the plate and takes hold of her fork, raising her eyebrows at me in reference to the sweet I included. “I thought you’d like that cupcake along with it,” I say. 

“Not a cupcake,” she says, picking it up and pulling off the paper wrapping. “It’s a winkie.” 

I chuckle and give her a skeptical side-eye. “A whatty?” 

“A winkie,” she says, biting into it before turning it around to show me the inside. “There’s stuff in the middle,” she says, mouth full. “Means it’s a winkie.” 

“You’re a winkie,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Do me a favor and never say that word again.” 

“Winkie,” she says, still chewing as she cracks up at herself. “What do you think is funnier - a singular winkie or plural winkies?” 

“Would you shut up about winkies?” I say, giggling as I go to kiss her. I hold her jaw in one hand and she’s still laughing as I pull away. 

“You’re the one who bought it,” she says, taking another bite. 

“I regret it now.” 

“Whatever,” she smiles. 

“I have something else for you, too, babe,” I say, standing up. “Stay right there.” 

I go into our closet and pull down the wrapped present from a high shelf - somewhere she could never dream of seeing, let alone reaching. I bring it out to her and she sets her plate off to the side so her lap is free. “What is it, what is it?” she asks excitedly, drumming her fingertips together. 

“Open the card first,” I say, and she does. 

On the front, it has pink stripes with a bow and says ‘happy first mother’s day!’ and on the inside, I’ve written a message from Rae that April reads out loud. “Mom, this has been the best year of my life (well, the only year!) Thank you so much for taking me with you wherever you go, rocking me to sleep with I’m tired, always making me laugh, and loving me with all you’ve got. I love YOU. Love, your little Lorraine.” April covers her mouth and looks at me with glistening eyes, forehead crinkled with emotion. “Jackson. I’m gonna cry.” 

I flash a closed-lipped smile and wrap my arm around her shoulders, kissing the top of her hair. “Don’t cry,” I say. “Or do, if you want. It’s okay.” 

She lifts Rae onto her lap and squeezes her tight, then places one hand flat on my chest. “Okay,” she says, sniffing in. “I’m gonna open the present now.” She rips off the paper and I smile proudly at the photo album I put together, and she stares in amazement as she runs her fingers around the square edges of the picture on the front - Rae’s first photo at the hospital. 

“Oh, Jackson,” she says quietly, flipping the pages quickly. “It’s all the way full. Oh, my gosh.” 

“You take enough pictures to fill five of these,” I say. “It was easy.” 

She turns to the first page and presses her hand over the four pictures there. I put the book in order as best as I could - from when April was pregnant all the way up until our family trip to the park last weekend. As April slowly looks through it, my eyes land on Rae in her Christening dress, the three of us in front of the lion exhibit at the zoo, and sitting and sipping hot chocolate on a cold winter day. Some of my favorites, though, are the silly selfies in our living room, candid pictures while we cooked dinner together, or any of them where I caught April and Rae having moments they didn’t know I was capturing. 

She pauses on one of those, her finger poised at the corner. In the photo, she’s on the couch, and judging by the snow falling in the window behind her, it was taken during the winter. About six months ago, in early December. April is sitting with her head leaned back on the cushion, eyes closed, looking completely exhausted as Rae nurses. April has her hands splayed over the baby’s back with her shirt half-up, hair frizzy and unkempt. She looks like the epitome of a worn-out new mom, and it’s one of my favorite pictures in the world.

“God, Jackson, I look horrible here,” she says, screwing her mouth up at me. 

“You do not,” I say. “You look amazing.” 

She scoffs. “Whatever, I do not.” 

“You do,” I insist. “You’re beautiful, and you’re the best mom I know.” 

She presses her shoulder against mine. “You have to say that. I had your baby.” 

“Stop,” I say. “You’re strong and beautiful, not to mention brilliant. Funny, too. Almost as funny as me. Maybe someday you’ll get there.” 

She snorts. “No,” she says. “No. You’re gonna be telling stupid dad jokes all her life. I can’t wait ‘til she gets older and you embarrass her in front of her first boyfriend.” 

I look down at Rae, who’s now rolled onto her back and is playing with her feet. “Don’t make me think about that yet,” I say. “She’s still just a chunk.” 

“Just a chunk,” April squeals. “Chunk, chunk, chunk!” 

I look at my family as April tickles Rae’s belly and feel something warm spread throughout my body as I think about how lucky I am. For so many years to come, I get to spend every day with these two. And I don’t think there’s a better gift in the world than that. 

**APRIL**

On a sunny Sunday morning in May, I wake up on the far right side of the bed, curled on my side. There’s a presence next to me - a little one. She has an arm thrown over my waist with her face pressed against my neck, lips parted as her soft breath passes in sleep.

Sweet baby Rae. My girl will be four soon, and it’s been five months since we’ve been on our own. 

I glance at the clock and see that it’s nearly 9, and we should start getting ready for church. We’re going to a special Mother’s Day service, then heading over to my mom’s afterwards. 

We live close to my family now, in Ohio. I couldn’t stay in Chicago anymore, in that big house in Wicker Park that I’d once shared with him. With every turn of the corner, an old memory would show up and send me reeling. There wasn’t a single inch of that house that I couldn’t see Jackson in, and it had gotten past the point of unbearable. 

It wasn’t just the house, either. Chicago had never been just my city, it was always ours. We had rekindled our relationship in the place where I had to return to work everyday. Gotten married in a big church in Lincoln Park. Gone on countless walks along the lake. So not only was the house full of memories that I could keep reliving but never retain, the city was, too. 

I had to stop immersing myself in it. In him. We had to move away. 

Rae and I started a whole new life in Columbus, just an hour’s drive away from my parents and sisters. She started school here, made friends here, started growing up without him here. 

I transferred to a new hospital. I’m a trauma attending, no longer head of the department. I don’t want to be. I can’t handle nearly as much pressure as I could before it happened. 

We lead a very different life now. Rae doesn’t go to the hospital daycare; on the rare times I need to stay late at work, one of my sisters watches her. Her cousins like spending time with her, but she spends a lot of time alone. Life has become hard for her to understand, much in the way it has for me. I’m happiest when she’s by my side - safe, where I can watch her and know that she’s okay. Breathing. Alive. 

I know she’s happiest when she’s with me, too. Her smile comes out then. Jackson’s smile. 

Waking myself up, I turn over on my side and run my hand down Rae’s poofy curls. She’d asked for her braids undone a few days ago, and I’d happily obliged. I love when her hair is free - the texture of it reminds me of Jackson’s when it used to get long. “Wake up, honey,” I whisper. 

She tightens her arm around me, making a quiet sound in her throat. I slip my hand underneath the back of her sleep shirt and run my fingernails up and down her soft skin, and kiss her hairline. “Time to get up. We gotta get ready for church.” 

She presses her face closer to me, and I give her a strong hug. 

Since Jackson’s passing, she talks much less. She used to be a chatterbox, now she tends to get lost in her thoughts. We aren’t dissimilar in that respect. 

“Can I wear my yellow dress to church?” she asks, finally pulling away from me and sitting up. She wipes the sleep from her eyes and looks at me - half-lidded and groggy. 

“Sure,” I say. “Let’s find it.” 

We both get up out of my bed on our respective sides. We sleep in this bed, the two of us, every night. This is a bed that I have never shared with anyone else but my daughter. This is a bed that Jackson has never touched, has never slept in. 

This is not the bed where he took his last breath. 

I rifle through Rae’s closet as she stands quietly beside me, resting her head against my hip. “Here you go,” I say. “Put your moisturizer in your hair, then you can put this on. Okay? I’m going to get in the shower.” 

She holds onto the dress and looks up at me with her big green eyes. “Can I put my oil in my hair in your bathroom?” she asks. “Can I be by you?” 

“Sure,” I say, and we walk in there together. 

While I’m in the shower, I hear Rae fussing with my things on the countertop. “Mommy, is it Mother’s Day?” she asks. 

“It is,” I say, my face under the water jet. Before she mentioned it, I had already been inundated with memories of this holiday gone by. I can remember my first one - when Jackson woke me up with the baby and breakfast and bed. That photo album he gave me. The next one, where I had gotten my first homemade card with Rae’s toddler handprints all over it. Then the one after that, where he’d gone to get me flowers and almost collapsed in the greenhouse because his migraine was too strong. We didn’t celebrate that year. He slept, the day passed without importance to Rae, and I plastered a smile on my face for her.

“It sure is,” I say. 

“I made you something at school,” she says quietly. 

“You did?” I ask. I hadn’t expected anything - she’s only four. It had slipped my mind that they’d do something at school, so I’m pleasantly surprised. “When I get out of the shower, can I see it?”

“Yeah.” 

After I have my church dress on and hair done, we head downstairs. I ended up having to moisturize her hair and help her into her yellow dress - she didn’t do it on her own. 

Sometimes, I catch her staring into space. Even when the TV’s on, every now and then I’ll look over at her and find her not looking at the screen, just staring. Eyes unfocused. I’m dying to know what’s going on inside her head, but when I ask, she snaps back to reality and doesn’t know how to answer me. 

When he left, he took a part of her with him. 

As I’m putting breakfast together for us, she goes into the closet and digs in her backpack, coming out with her arms behind her back. “Close your eyes,” she says. “And hold out your hands.” 

I do as she says, and feel something light rest in my palms.

“Okay,” she says. “Open.” 

I look down at a pink card with her chicken-scratch handwriting on the front. I can read ‘Happy Mother’s Day,’ in all sorts of different colors, with hearts and stars at the corners. 

“It’s beautiful,” I say, opening it. On the inside it says:  _ Dear mommy, thank you so much for everything you do. Thank you for driving me places. Cuddling with me at night. Telling funny jokes, and loving me. I love you. Love, Rae. _

My throat clogs as I stare down at her barely-legible words. Three years ago almost to the day, the physical memory of my first Mother’s Day card appears in my mind with such similar wording that you’d think she studied it first. 

She’s always been her father’s daughter. 

“I love it, sweetheart,” I say, kneeling down and wrapping my arms tight around her. “I love it so much. And I love you.” 

“Happy Mother’s Day,” she says with a small smile. 

We go to church and listen to the nice sermon, and Rae falls asleep on the drive to her grandma’s. When we get there, there are already a slew of cars parked in the driveway. We’re the last ones to arrive. 

I carry my daughter inside, her sleepy weight heavy on my chest as I walk up the front porch steps. She’s just waking up as my mom opens the door and greets us with big eyes and an even bigger smile. 

“April! Rae!” she exclaims. “Saved the best for last. Come in, sweethearts.” 

I set Rae down and she stays close to my side as we both take off our shoes. 

“Happy Mother’s Day!” Mom cheers. 

“You, too, mom,” I say. 

“Happy Mother’s Day, nana,” Rae says softly, a little smile on her face. 

“Oh, my Rae,” Mom says, lowering down to her knees to give Rae a big hug. “I’ve missed you so much. I’m so happy to see you.”

“I’m happy to see you, too, nana,” Rae echoes, still clinging to my mom’s neck. 

“Let’s see what everyone’s up to inside,” Mom says. “Wanna make our way in? Everyone’s been asking where you are.” 

“Church ran a little long,” I say, following her into the main part of the house. “I’m-” 

“April!” The first voice I hear is Libby’s, who comes around the corner with her big pregnant belly leading the way. “Hey, baby sister. We were just talking about you, hoping you’d get here.” She rubs Rae’s shoulder. “You two look beautiful. Were you at church?” I nod as an answer, offering a smile. “Good, good. Come sit down. We’re just about to eat.” 

All of us, and I mean  _ all  _ of us, sit around the table to have lunch together. Rae and I sit next to each other, and everyone else includes my mom and dad, Libby, her husband Tim and their two kids, Kimmie, her husband Caleb and their three kids, and Alice and her husband Darren and their two kids. It’s a cramped table, but we all manage to fit. 

There are so many people stuffed into one room, but I’ve never felt more alone in my life. 

The spot to my left is now taken up by a strange space. It’s where Jackson used to sit, and it’s obvious that my mom didn’t know whether to pretend like he was never there or leave a chair in his memory, so she chose something in the middle. 

There’s just an empty hole, no chair. 

Everyone actively tries not to bring him up. The most obvious time that it happens is as we share stories in the living room when lunch is finished. 

“Remember a couple Christmases ago - oh, I don’t know how long ago now,” Alice says, gesturing with her hands. “The kids were really young. So maybe it was two years ago? And the snow was so bad. And we bundled the babies up in their snow gear and took them out to look at it, and as we were walking out, it was so slippery! We were walking down the steps and wait… wait, who was it who slipped and almost dropped their kid? Was it you, Tim? Did you almost drop Layla?” 

Tim shakes his head, raising his eyebrows.

Alice points her finger in the air. “It must’ve been Caleb, then. It seems like such a Caleb thing to do.” 

“Wasn’t me,” Caleb says. “I remember that. I stayed inside with Lib. Hannah was a newborn.”

“It was Jackson,” I say, my voice sounding throughout the room and creating stagnant air after it passes. “Jackson was walking down the stairs. He slipped, almost dropped Rae. And I caught her, like some sort of circus act.” 

“Oh,” Alice says, pausing for a long time. “You’re right. It was. It was him.” She looks up from her lap to meet my eyes. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“You don’t have to apologize,” I say. 

“I… I do. I feel bad. I didn’t mean to, so carelessly, I… I’m sorry.” 

“Like I said, you don’t have to worry about it,” I say. 

A few more awkward beats pass before another conversation topic gets brought up. I sit there as an audience member, watching everything happen before me. Watching my sisters interact with their husbands and children when they walk into the room. Right now, I’m not sure where Rae is - I’m surprised she’s not glued to my side. But I don’t go off searching for her, I decide to let her be. 

“What do you say we pop in an old home movie?” Dad suggests. “I turned a few of ‘em into DVDs the other day. I just learned how. I’ve been waiting to show them off for you guys.” 

There’s a circle of assent within the group, and he digs until he comes up with a disc. “Just trying to find one that includes everybody,” he says. “So many of us, that’s hard to do. But let’s see.” 

He slides the disc in, and the scene crackles to life. I recognize it instantly - it’s Kimmie’s baby shower for her middle son, Jake. He’s a toddler now, so this was just a little over two years ago. I can see all of us sitting in mismatched chairs in this very living room, the camera posted in the back to get a good angle of everyone. 

Kimmie is opening gifts slowly, holding each one up as her friends and family ooh and ahh over what they see. I spot myself two seats to the left of her, chunky toddler Rae on my lap, fast asleep with her thumb in her mouth. 

Before the scene can progress much further, there’s a voice that comes from behind the lens. 

“Is this a good shot?” it asks. “I can’t see the people close right here. Do we need to move?” I hear a little more muttering that can’t quite be made out. “Yeah. Over there works nice. Here, get the tripod. I’ll hold the camera.” 

I know that voice. I’d know that voice anywhere.

The lens moves closer to me, and I lift my chin from Rae’s head to look right into it. “Hi,” I say softly. 

“Hey, babe,” Jackson whispers, and the camera goes out of focus and he assumably bends to kiss me. “I’m gonna set the camera up right here to face Kimmie, is that good?” 

“Am I in your way?” I ask him.

“No, never,” he says lightly. 

The room now is static. In present time, no one moves.

The next sound I hear are footsteps running quickly down the hallway, and they stop at the entrance of the living room. It’s Rae, wide-eyed and breathless. 

“Is Daddy here?” she gasps. 

I hurry out of the armchair I was sitting in and usher her out of the room, into the quiet hallway where she asks me again. “Was that Daddy?” she breathes, trying to peer over my shoulder. “I heard Daddy.” 

“It wasn’t him,” I say. 

“Yes, it was!” she insists. “That was Daddy’s voice.” 

“It was just the TV,” I say, and she looks at me as tears well up in her eyes. “It wasn’t really Daddy. Daddy is gone, honey. You know that. Daddy is gone.” 

“I heard him,” she says, her voice rising. Her chin trembles and tears drip out of her eyes. “I heard him.” 

I wrap my arms tightly around her and she buries her face in my neck. “I know,” I say. “I know you heard him.” 

“I want my daddy,” she sobs, her whole body quaking against me. 

“I know,” I say again. “Me, too.” 

**JACKSON**

“I’ll put her to bed, if you want,” I say to April, who’s holding Rae on her chest in the rocking chair. The baby has just finished nursing, and is almost asleep as it is. 

We’ve had a long, lazy Mother’s Day eating sweets and living life slow. Just being with each other. It’s what April wanted, so it’s what she got. 

“No,” she says. “You’re not stealing this baby from me, Daddy, no way.” She grins up at me with one hand braced on the back of Rae’s head, her lips close to her temple. “She’s mine, all mine.” 

“Baby hog,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bench by the changing table. 

“Covers hog,” she shoots back. 

“Irrelevant,” I say, laughing. 

A quiet moment passes as our leftover smiles fade away and a calmness settles over the room. I watch April as she rhythmically rocks back and forth, back and forth, closing her eyes with our baby cradled against her. 

“Hey,” she whispers softly, lifting her eyelids. “Hey, Jackson.” 

“Hey, April.” 

“I have a question for you. Like, a real question. Don’t get all jokey with me about it, okay?” 

I smile to myself. “Sure.” 

She closes her eyes again, a dreamy expression painted on her face. I wish I had my camera so I could take a picture of her - I never want to forget how she looks right now. As I watch her, I’m hit with the overwhelming realization that I never want to spend a waking moment of my life without her. I don’t know how I ever thought I could live without this. 

These two in front of me, they’re all I need. A strong wave of gratitude washes over me as I realize that they’re mine and I don’t have to share them, not for a single moment of my life will I have to be without them. 

“Do you ever think about having another one?” she asks. 

I raise my eyebrows. “Another one? Another chunk nugget?” 

She giggles. “Yeah.” 

I let my shoulders sink as I let out a long sigh. “I mean, I’ve definitely thought about it,” I admit, and she blinks her eyes open. “But…” 

“But she’s not even one year old, I know, I know,” she says. “I mean, like in the future.” 

“The future,” I say. 

“Yeah.” 

We lock eyes and break into identical grins. “The future, definitely,” I say. “Let’s have four kids. Shit, let’s have ten.” I stand up and pad over to her, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. “We have plenty of time.” 


	16. Outtake #2 - Father's Day

JACKSON

PAST 

I’ve never seen so much red hair before in my life. But on the patio of the farmhouse in Moline, it’s the only hair color around. Besides me, that is. 

I’m standing in front of the grill, watching everyone mingle and interact with each other. It’s Father’s Day weekend, and the whole clan is together at April’s parents’ house. I see her standing across from her little sister, Alice, with one hand on the small of her back and the other rested on her very pregnant belly. 

Our sweet little Rae is due next month, and April is ready to be done being pregnant. I smile to myself as she wipes the sweat from her forehead and talks emphatically, her facial expressions animated as always. 

It’s cheesy, but the phrase that runs through my mind is: _I love her so much_.  

“How’re the burgers and dogs coming, Jackson?” Joe asks, coming up from behind me. He pats me hard on the back and I turn to smile at him.  

“They’re comin’,” I say, flipping a couple of them. “We got enough food here to feed an army.” 

“That’s Kepners for ya,” he says, then hangs an arm around my shoulders. “And you two are about to give us one more. What a blessing.” 

I push some air from my nose, which makes a small sound. “Yeah, April’s really ready for that little girl to be born,” I say. 

“She holds herself well,” Joe says. “Always has. Her mother barely complained once while she was pregnant with the four girls. How’s April on that?” 

I give him a knowing look and we both start laughing. “Best not talk about it,” I say. 

“Good man,” Joe says. “Let me know when these are ready. I’ll wrangle everyone up.” 

“Sounds good,” I say, and my soon-to-be father-in-law walks away back to the throng of people standing in the grass. 

I continue my work on the grill, then feel a familiar hand slink around my back to hold my waist. I look down and see April standing and beaming up at me, her face shiny from the summer heat. 

I wipe a bead of sweat from her temple with my thumb and kiss her forehead. “Hi, honey,” I say. 

“Hey,” she replies, squeezing me a little. “How’s it coming?” 

“Good,” I answer. “They’re cooking just like that baby’s cookin’ inside you.” 

She swats my arm and we both laugh.

“Which are you having?” I ask.

“Both,” she answers. “The two of us are hungry. As hell.” 

“Don’t cuss around your family,” I say, nudging her hip with my own. 

Her lips pull up in a smirk and she pinches my waist. “Shush,” she says. “My dad didn’t bother you too much, did he?” 

I turn the sides of my mouth down. “No way,” I say. “Joe Kepner? He’s harmless.” 

“He doesn’t think so,” she says. “He thinks he’s a big shot. A very big shot.” 

“Nah,” I say. “He was talking about how our little Rae-Rae is such a blessing.” 

April rubs her belly, running her hand over the taut material of her tank top. “Well, she is,” she says. “She’s kickin’, too, daddy. Wanna feel?” 

I set the spatula down and press my palm against her belly, where I feel Rae moving inside her. “God, that’s so cool,” I say, flicking my eyes up to hers to see that she’s watching me. “I can’t believe that she’s in there. Like, our kid.” 

She sighs and raises her eyebrows. “I sure can,” she says. 

I laugh a little bit and kiss her cheek, picking the spatula back up. “Only a little bit longer, though,” I say.

“Too bad you can’t hold your actual physical baby on your first Father’s Day,” April says, pouting her lips out before pressing them over my shirt on my upper arm. 

“I can hold _ this _ baby, though,” I say, wrapping my free arm around her shoulders and pulling her even closer. She giggles and hugs my waist, so I kiss the top of her head by the base of her ponytail. “Okay, I think they’re all pretty much ready. Wanna grab a plate? I’ll dish you up first.” 

As we’re all sitting around the table, Karen pipes up as I’m taking a sip of lemonade. “So, Jackson,” she says, and I feel April’s hand tighten on my thigh. “How’re you feeling about your first Kepner family Father’s Day?” 

I smile. “Good,” I say. 

“You did a great job on the hamburgers and hot dogs,” she says, and across the table there’s a murmur of assent from everyone. 

“Well, thanks,” I say. “I tried.” 

“We’re so excited,” she continues. “To have you as a part of this family. And your little one. Even though she didn’t come around in the most conventional of ways-”  

“Mom,” April says, her tone a warning. 

“Let me finish,” Karen says. “Even though she didn’t come about in the most convention of ways, that’s all put aside now. She’s on her way, and that’s what matters. And we already love her.” 

One side of my mouth pulls up in a grin. “I do, too,” I say, covering April’s hand with my own. “A lot. Kinda crazy how much.” 

I feel April’s eyes on me, all warm and loving. 

“You’ll be amazed at how much that love’s gonna grow as soon as you see her face,” Joe says, piping up from the other end of the table. “Once you hold that baby… wow.” 

“He’s right,” Alice’s husband, Darren, says. “When Halley was born, it was wild. I’d never felt anything like that before.” 

Halley looks up from where she sits beside her mother, but decides the conversation isn’t worth her time and goes back to her potato salad. 

“Are you going to stay in Chicago after she’s born?” Karen asks, the question directed at April. 

“Of course we are,” April says. “Our jobs are there. Our whole lives are there.” Libby makes a sound in the back of her throat. “What?” April says, calling her out. 

“Oh, nothing,” her oldest sister says. “It’s just that… do you really want to raise a child in that city?”

April and I make quick eye contact, then break away. 

“What’s so wrong with ‘that city?’” April asks. 

“Girls,” Karen says. 

“No, I wanna know what she thinks,” April says. “I know she’s been thinking it the whole time I was pregnant. Actually, since I moved there from Seattle. I’m just curious.” 

Libby sighs exasperatedly. “You moved from Seattle back to the midwest, yet you had to go there. You couldn’t come back home? It’s like you think you’re too good for us now or something.” 

I narrow my eyes at April, wondering how she’ll answer. 

“So you’re not worried where I’ll raise my child, or  _ how _ I’ll raise her, you’re worried about how I see you,” she says. “Seriously?” 

“Now you’re just twisting my words,” Libby says. 

“Guys, stop,” Kimmie says. “Just shut up.” 

“April and Jackson will do a good job raising Lorraine wherever they live,” Alice says. “They’re gonna be awesome parents.” 

“Thanks, Alice,” I say. 

“It’s true,” she replies, eyebrows up. “You guys love each other, you’re gonna be such a cute little family. I can tell you’re gonna be the type to have like, a million kids.” 

April snorts. “Maybe not a million,” she says. “Let’s get the one out first.” 

We finish up dinner and when everything is cleaned up, Halley and Layla, Alice and Libby’s daughters respectively, ask me to play with them. “Play Blob! Play Blob!” they chant, and I look to April for help. 

“What’s Blob?” I ask. 

“We run around in a circle and you try to catch us!” Halley informs me, shouting at the top of her lungs. 

So I do it. I hover in the middle of the yard as the two little girls circle me, and grab them each around the waist pretending to be ‘the Blob.’ 

“Oh, I got you now,” I say, holding them over my shoulders like potato sacks as they shriek happily. “I got you now, the Blob’s gonna eat you up for dessert!” 

“No, Uncle Jackson, no!” they chorus while pounding on my back. “Let us down!” 

I carry them around the yard and pretend to toss them over the fence, which they love. When I’m all Blobbed out and they’re being called back to their mothers, I wipe the sweat from my brow as I saunter up to April on the deck. 

“Those kids tire you out?” she asks, hands flat on my chest.  

I wind my arms around her body and rest them on the small of her back. “For sure,” I say.  

She reaches up and runs a finger down my neck, which is also sweating. “They love you,” she says, then mimics them. “Uncle Jackson, Uncle Jackson!” She laughs, then grows quiet again. “You’re gonna be a great daddy,” she tells me.

I beam down at her, then kiss her salty forehead. “Thank you,” I say. 

“Happy Father’s Day,” she says, drumming her fingers. “Rae told me to tell you.” 

APRIL

PRESENT

“Do you want to wear purple or yellow?” I ask, crouched down and digging in an open suitcase lying on the hotel floor. 

“Purple,” Rae answers, from where she sits at the foot of the unmade bed that we both slept in last night. 

We’re in Chicago, which is something rare. We haven’t been here for three years - we moved away right after Jackson’s funeral. But a work conference called me back, and it landed over Father’s Day weekend. My work portion is over and today, on Sunday, Rae and I are going to see her dad. 

“Your daddy loved purple,” I say, pulling out the dress she requested and shaking the wrinkles out. 

She looks at me with those big, green, doe eyes. “But he can’t see me,” she says. “We’re going to see him, but he can’t see me.” 

I open my mouth, then close it as I try to piece together my answer. “Well… no,” I say. “You’re right. But I think Daddy’s always watching us.” 

“In heaven,” she finishes. 

“Exactly,” I say. 

I’ve been especially businesslike today, given the holiday. I know if I’m anything less, I won’t manage to get us out of this room. And before we get on a plane back to Columbus, seeing him is something we need to do. 

I don’t like living so far away from where he lies, but his mother wanted him buried here. He hadn’t liked Boston growing up, and he moved away from Seattle. He made Chicago his home. It was a part of who he was. She said that he’d want to keep his physical body here, make this city his final resting place, and I had gone with her word.  

I couldn’t have made the decision on my own, anyway. I was thankful for her. 

“Can Daddy talk to us?” Rae asks, hands on my shoulders as I hold out a clean pair of underwear for her to step into. 

“What do you mean, baby?” I ask, sitting her down to face front on my lap. I get a wide-toothed comb and work it through her hair as she talks and winces at the same time. 

“At the ceme…” she trips over the word. “Where he is.” 

At the cemetery. That’s what she’s trying to say. “Oh,” I say. “No. He can’t talk to us.” 

“But he’s there,” she continues. “If we’re going to see him, why won’t he talk?” 

I close my eyes for a brief moment. I’ve tried to explain the concept of death to my daughter time and time again, and each time I think she’s finally grasped it. And each time, I’m wrong. And I’m always wrong in a different way. 

Her misunderstandings make his absence hurt worse, but I know I can’t be frustrated with her. She’s six. And while some children her age do understand death, she doesn’t. Even though it happened to her firsthand, she still doesn’t. 

She thinks her daddy is coming back. 

“He’s not going to talk to us because he’s gone, sweetie,” I say. “He’s with God now. Remember, how I told you? You were really little when he went away.” 

“You go away for work sometimes,” she says, bracing her neck as I braid back her hair. “Are you not gonna come back?” 

“No, no,” I say, sighing. “When I go away, I will always come back. I shouldn’t use those words. Your daddy didn’t just go away. He died, honey. His brain got sick and we couldn’t make him better.” 

“But you’re a doctor,” she says. “You make people better all the time.” 

“I know,” I say. “I know. But I couldn’t fix him. No one could.” 

“Why was his brain sick?” she asks. 

“It…” I stare up at the ceiling and blink hard. “It got a tumor inside it. A tumor is a bunch of bad guy cells that attack the good guy cells. And Daddy’s good guy cells just couldn’t fight it off, and it made his body stop working. He got very tired, and his brain shut off, which made his heart stop pumping. And he died.” 

“He died,” Rae repeats. “If he’s dead, then how can we go see him?” 

“He was buried,” I say. “He has a pretty headstone with his name on it and when he was born, and some nice words that me and Grandma Catherine picked out. We’re going to go put some flowers by it today, and wish him a happy father’s day.” 

“Yeah, it’s daddy’s day,” Rae says. “My friends at school talked about it.” 

“Yeah?” I say. “How did that make you feel?” 

She shrugs. “I don’t know.” 

We get ready, both of us wearing formal clothes, and head out the door. We’ll come back here before we leave for the airport, so we don’t have to take all of our luggage with us to the cemetery. I’m not carrying much, but it’s enough. In one hand I have a bouquet of flowers and in the other, I hold my daughter’s grip. 

In our Uber on the way there, Rae is quiet. She watches the buildings pass as we drive through downtown with amazement in her eyes. The part of Columbus that we live in is suburban and looks nothing like this. 

“We used to live here?” she asks, one hand gently pressing against the glass.  

I’ve told her plenty about our old life in Chicago, but she can only remember bits and pieces. Her memories come in spurts, like some have been deliberately erased by her conscious.  

She has nothing left of Jackson. Nothing more than what I tell her. 

“We did,” I say. “Can you remember?”  

She pauses for a moment, eyes still on the skyscrapers. “It didn’t look like this,” she says. “I remember a black gate.” 

I can’t help but smile. “You’re right, Rae, that’s a good memory. We did have a black gate.” I reach across the seat and hold onto her leg. “We lived in a brick house on Leavitt street, in a neighborhood called Wicker Park. We had a black gate around our house.” 

“That locked when you closed it,” she finishes.

My eyes burn with the onset of tears. “That locked when you closed it,” I repeat. “You do remember.” 

We’re quiet for the rest of the ride, and I bid the driver a good day when we pull up to the cemetery. The sun is shining brightly down on us, and I squint into it as we walk past the entryway. 

Rae takes my hand again as we walk down the path, observing the stones surrounding us. 

“These are all people who died?” she asks. 

“Yes,” I say. “They’re all buried underground here. We can’t see them, but they’re there.” 

She holds my hand tighter, and our footsteps fall into pace together. Jackson’s plot is a little ways in, which was done on purpose. Neither Catherine or I wanted him near the road; we wanted him tucked away, with some space between him and the busy outside world. 

When we get close, the air has quieted. We’re in the shade of a handful of low-hanging trees, and Rae’s grip has become less worried and more lax on mine. 

I see his headstone, and my knees grow weak. I’ve thought about coming back here for a long time, ever since he died, but haven’t been since we left Chicago. And we left not long after he passed. It’s been too long since I’ve visited, and I’m overcome with guilt.  

If the tables were turned, I know he wouldn’t have moved away. He would have stuck it out - maybe moved houses, but that’s it. He would’ve stayed in the city I was in, come to visit me every chance he could, and I couldn’t do that. Couldn’t be that brave. He’s always going to be stronger than I am, even in death. 

“Here he is,” I say gently to Rae, then stoop down to my knees in front of Jackson’s headstone. 

It reads: 

_ Jackson Michael Avery _

_ November 18th, 1980 - October 6th, 2016 _

_Beloved father, son, and husband_  

_ You made a beautiful difference in our lives _

My hands are shaking and my mouth is dry as I lay the bouquet of flowers in front of the stone. I smooth them down unnecessarily and clear my throat in attempts to choke back my tears, but it doesn’t work. A few errant ones slide down my cheeks anyway. 

“My daddy is under here?” Rae asks, breaking the silence. I look over, and she has her hands pressed into the earth, claiming it. 

I nod. “Yes,” I say. “He was buried here when you were three. We were both at his funeral, where it happened at.” 

She takes my words and looks away, back at the gray stone. She points at the script lettering and says, “That’s my daddy’s name. Jackson. I can read it.” 

“You’re right,” I say, weakly smiling. “That is his name.” 

Rae untucks her legs and sits down criss-cross style, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. The concentrated expression on her face is so much akin to Jackson that I can’t bear to watch her come to grips with the fact that this is all she will ever have of her father. 

“When Daddy would get done being a doctor and take me to play on the playground, I remember that,” she says, eyes still on the headstone. “He would come in and play with me, too. Even though it’s silly for a daddy to do that.” 

I clench my fists tightly together. I know for certain she doesn’t remember that - she was very, very small. But this is a story that I’ve told her plenty of times, and it makes me happy to hear her recounting it. 

“When I was a little baby,” she says. “I remember that.” 

“You do?” I say. 

She nods. “Uh-huh.” 

“What else can you remember about your daddy?” I ask her. 

She presses a finger to her temple. “My eyes,” she says. “He gave me my eyes.” 

“You’re right,” I say. “You and your dad both have those beautiful eyes.” 

She rocks back and forth, struggling for more. “He maked you wear sunscreen. Even when you didn’t want to. Just like you make me.” 

I flash her a small grin. 

“He didn’t like your music you have,” she continues. “But he liked it when you singed and danced.” 

I sigh and force another grin. These things should be making me happy, but they aren’t. Hearing her recall these ‘memories’ are only solidifying what I already know; none of these belong to her. She’s recalling stories that I’ve told her, and what little she had left of Jackson is all the way gone. 

A few moments later, Rae is gazing off into the distance and I get closer to his stone. I rest on my knees in front of it and run my hands over the slopes, reading and rereading what’s written on the front. 

“All I wanted was to start a family with you,” I whisper, still stroking the cold granite. “I miss you so much. So, so much.” 

There’s not much more I can say that I haven’t already said. I talk to him a lot - all the time, actually. And I really think he hears me, at least that’s what I have to tell myself. 

A period of silence passes, then Rae speaks up. “Mama?” she peeps, inching closer to me. Soon, she’s pressed against my side, so I wrap one arm around her and kiss the top of her head. “Can you tell my daddy something?” 

“Sure,” I say. “But you can tell him, if you want. We’re right here, both me and you. If you just talk, he can hear you.” 

She shakes her head, lips pressed together tight. “You,” she says. “You tell him.” 

“Okay,” I say. “What is it?”  

She pushes herself up on her knees and cups her hands around my ear, telling me what I need to pass on. When she pulls away, I nod meaningfully and lean forward on my hands and knees to speak very close to Jackson’s stone. 

“Happy Father’s Day,” I say, my palms pressed firmly above where he lies. “Rae told me to tell you.” 


End file.
